Displaced
by shan21
Summary: Hermione’s eyes grew wide. 'This is not happening,' her brain insisted. She had forgotten herself in Harry’s memory, feeling pity for this memory of Snape, and had screamed at James Potter to stop tormenting him. And he had clearly heard her.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This story is an AU that starts out in book 6 some time after Hermione and Ron took their apparition tests. That means we're up to the point where: Harry has taken Felix Felicis and taken Slughorn's memory, Dumbledore explains that Voldemort made six Horcruxes, Ron just broke up with Lavender and Ginny with Dean, and Harry used _Sectumsempra_ on Malfoy in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. This takes place before Harry and Ginny's first kiss.

It's a time turner fic without a time turner. I'm trying to avoid as many clichés as possible, so: No, Hermione doesn't faint when she realizes she is in the past; no, she doesn't pretend to be an exchange student from Beauxbatons, etc… Eventually I think this is going to be Hermione/Lupin, but nothing is definite yet.

~o~o~o~

"I think he's going mental," Ron whispered. Hermione felt his breath stir up the fine hair on the back of her neck.

"Going? Try gone," she muttered. She felt Ron's chest against her back and the phantom pressure of his chin hovering just above her shoulder as he bowed his head to speak to her. She shifted to find a less awkward position under the cloak.

"Stop it," Ron hissed. "Someone will see." He put his arms around her, pressing her hands to her sides to stop her fidgeting. She unconsciously leaned back into him.

"How long has he been in there?" Ron whispered. Hermione thought for a moment.

"Ten minutes, maybe."

"Too long," Ron returned. Hermione shifted again, tugging at the cloak when it began to slip.

"Do you think he'll find anything?" Ron continued.

"No," Hermione said shortly. Hermione expected Ron to rush to Harry's defense, but when he didn't she turned a bit and continued. "It could be anything in that shop. Who knows if Harry can even afford to buy it if he finds it." She was too short to reach his ear and wound up saying this more or less to Ron's collarbone.

"What a waste of effort," Ron said glumly. "All that research on glamour charms for nothing."

Hermione turned away again and snorted. She could feel Ron tilt his face downward to glare at her. "Right, because _you_ worked so hard researching, did you? I could tell. You were so exhausted by your efforts that I caught you fast asleep and drooling on page one of Glamour Charms for Undercover Wizards and the Fairly Unattractive.

"Hey, I helped plenty!" Ron's voice rose a little and Hermione elbowed him in the gut, causing him to gasp and start to shout louder. "What was that fo—"

"SHH!" Hermione hissed. "Keep your voice down, you dolt. Do you want people coming over to investigate why the streetlamp near Borgin & Burkes is bellowing?"

Ron reluctantly fell silent, and Hermione took the moment's repose to ruminate on the utter pointlessness of their outing. Harry was quite simply obsessed with Draco Malfoy. Every day the boy ran through a list of wild accusations against the blond Slytherin longer than Snape's nose. Even after sending the Slytherin to the hospital by using the Prince's spell, he wasn't satisfied. It was under this intense prodding and carrying on about the mysterious artifact that Malfoy seemed so interested in before the start of school that Ron and Hermione finally agreed to return to Borgin & Burkes under Harry's invisibility cloak.

It wasn't an easy trip. The trio had to sneak into Hogsmeade using the passageway behind the statue of the humpbacked witch on the third floor of Hogwarts, and then summon the Knight Bus for a stomach-churning ride to Diagon Alley.

So here they were, Harry fumbling about in Borgin & Burkes under two dozen different glamour charms, and Ron and Hermione huddled exasperatedly under a too-small invisibility cloak.

"Maybe Malfoy came back and purchased the whatever-it-is and then smuggled it into school," Ron murmured.

Hermione rolled her eyes, although Ron could not see her.

"Well, if he did then whatever-it-is isn't dark or dangerous. Filch is screening everything," Hermione reminded him.

"Well maybe Malfoy threw a few galleons his way to be sure he'd get it through. You know he can afford it," Ron said, not trying to hide his envy.

Hermione shook her head; her frizzy curls brushing Ron's arms.

"Filch would take more pleasure from punishing a student for bribery than he would from just accepting a bribe. And why are you starting with the conspiracy theories now too? It's bad enough with Harry harping on this without you joining in."

Her query was met with silence, and Hermione felt a lump of guilt in her stomach.

"I didn't mean to say that Harry is a burden," she added hastily. "I just… You know I worry about him… He's becoming obsessed."

"Becoming? Try become," Ron said. She couldn't see him, but she knew that the corners of his mouth were turned up into a small grin. She allowed herself the tiniest of smiles and leaned back into his chest even more than before. Ron had broken up with Lavender only a few days earlier, but already Hermione felt that she and Ron were on the verge of something both terrifying and exciting in their relationship. She allowed her head lull to the side and let herself enjoy his closeness.

"Here he comes!" Ron said in a sharp whisper. Hermione jolted upright.

Indeed it was Harry who came calmly out of Borgin & Burkes shop, but no one around would have known it was him. A combination of powerful appearance charms had changed his youthful face into a mask of scars and wrinkles. His black messy hair resembled a tawny mane that covered his scar (no amount of spellwork could hide it), and his emerald eyes were a dull brown. He was at least three inches taller and fifty pounds heavier. And of course, he'd let Hermione alter the shape of his glasses.

He started out toward Diagon Alley and jerked his head to indicate that Ron and Hermione should follow. Diagon Alley was still as empty and uninviting as it had been when the Hermione had gone with Harry, Hagrid and the Weasleys to get her school supplies in August, with the exception that now there were even more Ministry warnings and "Wanted" posters plastered on buildings and in windows. As the trio passed Ollivander's boarded up windows Hermione saw Bellatrix Lestrange's face sneering up at her from a fallen leaflet on the ground. She made sure to step on it as they continued to move. It was difficult to coordinate her movement with Ron's without bumping into him repeatedly, so Hermione was glad when Harry finally showed signs of slowing. They had reached Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

Hermione stared at the huge purple sign in the right-hand window. Its flashing yellow letters still advertised U-No-Poo. When they entered Hermione saw that the shop was not nearly as crowded as it had been over the summer. The children in the shop all looked very young, younger than eleven in any case. She surmised that with students in school they relied mainly on mail orders. It was then that she felt Ron tugging the cloak from them. There was a slight "whoosh" as the cloak came off, and a small blonde girl near a display of Reusable Hangmen gasped as she saw two teenagers appear out of thin air. The girl stared at them with wide eyes for a second before scurrying off to safer ground.

"Oh, very discreet," Hermione admonished, trying futilely to settle her hair.

"Never mind that," Ron said dismissively. "Harry, what did you find?"

Hermione turned to the strange-looking Harry. His mouth was screwed up in a tight line.

"Nothing," he muttered. "There's just too much in there. I kept asking Borgin about buying this or that and nothing seemed to trouble him."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply that maybe they would be better off trying to get an answer directly out of Malfoy rather than going on a wild goose chase, but before she could speak Harry continued.

"Don't!" he said sharply. "Just don't, Hermione. I'm not in the mood to be scolded."

Offended, a half-dozen defenses sprung to her tongue, but instead of giving any of them voice she snapped, "_Finite incantatem_."

Immediately Harry's sandy hair became an inky black and receded a few inches. His body shrunk and twisted until the Boy Who Lived stood before them once again. His clothes, which Hermione had enlarged slightly to fit his larger frame, now hung from his body. Out of spite she neglected to shrink the clothes back down to size.

"Ugh, that looked right uncomfortable, mate. What did it feel like?" Ron asked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Like I just got sucked inside a vacuum cleaner," Harry replied dazedly.

"A what?" Ron asked.

"Never mind," Harry muttered, touching his face with his hands as if making sure that he wasn't accidentally missing his nose. "Wouldn't want to be Tonks, although I'm sure she's used to it by now."

"Well, can we go back to school, then?" Hermione said impatiently.

The boys eyed the shelves of merchandise in the shop before giving Hermione a significant look. Hermione sighed, knowing that it would be pointless to argue with them. Besides, without a bit of a pick-me-up, Harry would be sulking and snappish for the remainder of the weekend. Rolling her eyes, she nodded, and her delighted friends quickly rushed to the nearest display of puking pastilles.

Hermione busied herself trying to shove the invisibility cloak into her backpack when somebody called her name.

"Miss Granger! To what do we owe this very pleasant surprise?" boomed an animated Fred Weasley. Before Hermione could answer, George spoke up.

"Oh, brought these two, did you?" he said, gesturing behind her. "Well, shouldn't judge a person by the company they keep I s'pose…" George with a deep sigh as Fred nodded grimly.

Ron rolled his eyes as he and Harry approached the twins.

"You guys are regular comedians," he said sarcastically. "Really, I think you're wasting your talent with this joke shop business. You two should go on the road together."

"Oh, your mum would really love that," Harry said.

Fred and George both made a show of considering this career opportunity, thoughtfully stroking imaginary beards.

"We are quite the entertainers, Fred," George mused.

"And just think of the groupies," added Fred wistfully.

Hermione cleared her throat to refocus the group's attention.

"Back to your question, we were in the Diagon Alley, so we thought we'd pop in," she said matter-of-factly.

"Do you mean to tell me that Hermione Granger snuck out of school to visit a joke shop?" George asked, astounded.

"I mean, we'd expect this sort of delinquent behavior from these seedy types," Fred joined in, gesturing toward Harry and Ron. "But not from you."

"It was my idea," Harry said quickly. "I wanted to get a book on defensive magic."

Trying to pass off a lie on Fred and George Weasley was like trying to best McGonagall at transfiguration, and the twins eyed Harry suspiciously.

"It's true. The appeal of books you know, Hermione couldn't say no, could she?" Ron added, helpfully. Hermione nodded in support. It was a bad lie, but all three felt that it was best to keep the truth quiet.

"A book that you couldn't find in the school library?" George prodded.

"I'm pretty sure those don't exist," said Fred.

Ron began muttering what Hermione was sure would be a faulty excuse when Fred continued.

"It's a bad lie, but we'll let it slide. Only because we can use your help," Fred said smoothly.

"We have some new products we've been itching to test—er show to someone!" George added.

Hermione eyed them skeptically, but Ron and Harry went along eagerly as the twins ushered them into the back room. They passed a group of giggly girls cooing at the bin of Pygmy Puffs by the register. Fred grabbed a purple one out of the bin as he strode along and tossed it carelessly back and forth between his hands. It gave out an occasional high-pitched squeal of terror, but Fred didn't seem to mind.

Once in the rear of the store, Hermione pulled off her cloak. It had been an uncommonly chilly day for late May, but the shop was warm and bustling. When Hermione turned her attention back to the twins, George was searching the cluttered shelf behind them. He pushed aside what appeared to be something moving and slimy to reveal a large hand mirror. As he pulled out the mirror, Hermione noticed a spindly protrusion on its side, like a thin golden handle.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"We present to you the Portable Pensieve!" George proudly announced. When all he received in return were puzzled expressions, Fred continued for him.

"You simply concentrate hard on a specific memory, touch your wand to your head, pull the memory out, and feed it to this part here," he tapped the spindly arm, "and then view in the mirror as you would with a regular Pensieve."

"The only difference is that you can't actually enter into the memory, the thing being so small and all," George supplied.

"Wicked," Ron whispered.

"It's portable, easy to use, and a bargain!" George added.

"What's the trick?" Hermione asked.

"No trick," Fred said, looking hurt that Hermione would suggest such a thing.

"Come off it. This is a joke shop. What's the joke?" Ron insisted.

"We'll have you know that we've been working on a more serious line of merchandise recently," George replied, giving Ron a nasty look.

"Who'd like to try it out?" Fred asked. Ron reached out and grabbed the mirror from George, but Fred, dropping his Pygmy Puff carelessly so that it landed with a squeak, reached out and snatched it back from him.

"Allow me to clarify," Fred resumed. "Who besides Ronniekins would like to try it?"

"Oh come on! I'm your brother! I've never even used a regular Pensieve before. I want to see" Ron whined, clawing at Fred's hands. Fred looked at George rather seriously for a moment before George gave a little nod.

"Okay, but only for a minute," Fred said, handing over the Portable Pensieve. Ron greedily pulled at the strange mirror and brought it close to his face. He screwed up his face in concentration did exactly as Fred had instructed. As soon as he touched his wand to the spindle, however, a forceful stream of water shot out of the face of the mirror and hit Ron square in the face. He coughed and sputtered in complete surprise for a moment before turning the mirror away from him and muttering a stream of curses.

"Oh, it does do that as well. I guess you could consider that a trick," George said thoughtfully.

"Oh yeah, I'd forgotten all about that. I guess it is a joke product after all," Fred added helpfully.

Ron huffed and glared at the twins. Fred took the mirror back and bent the spindly hand into a more upright position before passing it to Harry, who eyed it suspiciously.

"It's okay Harry. It only does that if you trip the spindle beforehand. See?" Fred gestured at the spindle. "It's in the correct position now. Go on."

Harry hesitated for a moment, then slowly touched his wand to the side of his head. A small strand of silvery stuff was pulled from his temple and Harry tugged it gently over to the spindle, which immediately sucked the strand up as if eating it. True to the twins' word, the mirror did not expel any water, but rather seemed the turn to water itself. The surface of the mirror rippled and swirled before gradually settling back to a glassy solid. Harry became engrossed in the image the mirror presented to him, although no one else was able to peek at what it was Harry had chosen to relive.

"What's this?" Ron asked, poking at a round ball of silver dangling from a plain looking chain suspended on from a wall tack. The ball was engraved with an imprint of a world map, giving it the appearance of a miniature globe. It had a strange golden knob at the top of it.

"This, my dearest ickle brother, is an Apparition-Aide!" Fred said happily, snatching it off the tack.

"What's an—" Ron started.

"The Weasley brother's newest invention, the Apparition-Aide, will help even the most dim-witted witch or wizard Apparate with ease!" George supplied. He sounded, Hermione thought, as though he was on a Muggle television commercial.

"The Apparition-Aide will have you to your destination in no time. You can Apparate farther and to less familiar locales with virtually no risk of splinching!" Fred continued.

"Virtually?" Hermione interrupted.

"We're still testing them, but they're nearly market ready. I mean, if you're a real dolt, there's always a danger," George said dismissively.

"Make it idiot proof, and they'll make a better idiot," Fred mused.

"So Ron, you might want to skip this one," George added.

"Funny," Ron muttered.

"I don't believe it," Hermione said, taking the Apparition-Aide from George and examining it skeptically.

"No, he really is a dolt, Hermione. You've known him for six years. You must've noticed—"

"I mean I don't believe your sales pitch," Hermione interrupted Fred brusquely. "Are you telling me that a complete novice could use this thing and Apparate a hundred miles away to a completely foreign location?"

"We've tested them out ourselves," George replied confidently.

"George popped over to Beijing yesterday afternoon with no trouble at all," Fred said.

"Heard the witches there outnumber the wizards eight to one," George explained, shrugging.

"Was it true?" Ron asked eagerly. Hermione shot him a disapproving look and he managed to stop grinning.

"Gross exaggeration, I'm afraid," George said wistfully.

"Anyway, I don't recommend using it in conjunction with other magical devices," said Fred. "Something funny happened the other day while I was using the Personal Pensieve. I tried Apparating to the front room while just after I'd finished re-watching the moment that we watched Krum catch the snitch at the Quidditch World Cup—Man could that bloke fly. Best seeker in a centur—"

"As much as we all love hearing about your fond memories, Fred, if there's a point…" Ron interrupted. He seemed particularly foul-tempered and Hermione couldn't help but speculate that it had something to do with the unexpected mention of Viktor Krum.

Fred scowled. "Long story short, I ended up in the Quidditch World Cup Stadium," he said perplexedly.

"Just thinking of the wrong destination, that's all. No real trouble though," George quickly amended. "He just Apparated right back, isn't that right dear brother?"

"Not a scratch on me," Fred said, pulling up the sleeves on his robe to prove this statement. "It was ruddy crowded in there, people going wild you know, but the important thing is, the Apparition-Aide worked, no problem. I mean, sure it got a little hot, and sure it exploded upon my arrival back at the shop, but—"

"Well, now I know you're having me on," Hermione chided. "The World Cup Stadium doesn't exist anymore. The Department of Magical Games and Sports always tears down the Cup stadiums two days after the tournaments end, of course. There certainly wouldn't still be people in it," Hermione said, rolling her eyes at the twins.

George shrugged. "Maybe you fell asleep with your face on the Portable Pensieve, mate," he teased Fred.

"Never mind that! I'm still stunned that she knew a Quidditch fact! Good show, Hermione!" Fred exclaimed, slapping Hermione on the back jovially.

Hermione swayed for a moment but managed to remain upright. She glared at Fred and shoved the Apparition-Aide into his hands.

"Well, in any case, it doesn't sound as though you've got all the kinks worked out," she said firmly.

"Oh, come on, Hermione, live a little," Fred prodded, sliding the chain over her head. "If you end up going wrong, you can just pop back."

"Go ahead, Hermione, give it a go," George said encouragingly. "You're the only one who can Apparate, what with Harry being too young and Ronniekins here being an embarrassing failure."

"HEY!" Ron bellowed. "It was half an eyebrow!"

"I'm really not comfortable with this," Hermione said nervously. "It's not fully tested yet…"

"Would we ever put you in danger?" Fred asked, feigning hurt.

Hermione shot him a pointed look that clearly implied she believed that they would do just that.

"Hermione, we might test out dangerous products on defenseless, trusting little first-years, but not on you," Fred amended.

"You're too clever. You'd hurt us," George said honestly.

"Just try someplace easy to start. How about you pop outside, right in front of our shop. It won't be dangerous at all," Fred pressed.

"Then what's the point of using the Aide?" Hermione asked.

"We promise you'll feel a difference. The ride will be smoother, quicker, and require less concentration," Fred said enthusiastically. "None of that horrible squeezing feeling."

Hermione paused and looked down again at the Apparition-Aide.

"And then I can just pop right back?" she asked tentatively.

"Absolutely," George said, grinning.

"Go on then, give it a go," Fred urged.

Hermione looked at Ron and he shrugged unhelpfully. He was still pouting at the twins' dig about his recent failure to pass his Apparition test and delicately rubbing his eyebrows. She turned to Harry, but he was still engaged in whatever memory he had chosen to relive. Hermione fastened her cloak around her shoulders to prepare herself for the chill outside the shop, and looked back at the twins.

"How does it work?" she sighed.

Fred and George beamed at each other before turning back to her.

"You just touch your wand to the golden knob at the top of the Aide," George explained, and Hermione cautiously complied, keeping her eyes on the twins the whole time.

"Excellent. Now you just think of your destination and take three confident steps forward, and you should just pop away on the third step. It's important that you take those steps _confidently_!" Fred supplied eagerly.

Hermione took a deep breath and tried to quell her swiftly beating heart. _The twins know what they're doing_, she reassured herself. _They may be hopeless troublemakers, but they do have talent. They won't get you hurt_.

"Stay confident!" George urged, which only made Hermione more nervous.

Throwing one last glance at Ron, who smiled weakly and shrugged, she strode forward slowly. One step. Two steps. As she was about to take her third step, however, she set into motion a chain of events that no one could have predicted.

Her foot landed on Fred's stray Pygmy Puff, which let out a high-pitched squeal and scurried off between Harry's feet. Shocked out of his memory, Harry glanced blurrily around the shop, but could not clear his vision in time to avoid colliding with Hermione, whose forward momentum had caused her to continue on to a fourth, far less confident step. As the two hurtled into each other, and Hermione suddenly felt a cold, wet sensation on her hands. She watched in surprise as her arms sunk right into the face of the mirror. Hermione got a flash of Harry's memory—She saw Harry at Hogwarts. He held his wand directed towards a skinny robed figure that appeared to be hanging upside down as if an invisible hand had yanked him up by his ankle. And suddenly, before Hermione could pull her arms out of the mirror, there was a loud CRACK, and she saw no more.


	2. Chapter 2

Last chapter…

_Her foot landed on Fred's stray Pygmy Puff, which let out a high-pitched squeal and scurried off between Harry's feet. Shocked out of his memory, Harry glanced blurrily around the shop, but could not clear his vision in time to avoid colliding with Hermione, whose forward momentum had caused her to continue on to a fourth, far less confident step. As the two hurtled into each other, and Hermione suddenly felt a cold, wet sensation on her hands. She watched in surprise as her arms sunk right into the face of the mirror. Hermione got a flash of Harry's memory—She saw Harry at Hogwarts. He held his wand directed towards a skinny robed figure that appeared to be hanging upside down as if an invisible hand had yanked him up by his ankle. And suddenly, before Hermione could pull her arms out of the mirror, there was a loud CRACK, and she saw no more._

~o~o~o~

_Something's gone wrong_, Hermione thought as soon as she disapparated from the shop. She arrived at her destination with another loud CRACK and looked around dazedly.

_This… isn't possible_, she thought. Her heart pounded in her chest as spun slowly where she stood in order to scan her surroundings.

Large, foreboding willow tree…

Expansive green forest…

Towering castle…

It was Hogwarts.

Hermione had a terrible flipping sensation in the pit of her stomach. Her mind was swimming with worry. _You can't Apparate into Hogwarts! The twins have invented something unbelievably dangerous! The protective wards did nothing to stop me from entering!_

Hermione distantly registered many shouting voices mingled with laughter, and turned sharply toward the sound. Over by the lake, she noticed for the first time a figure dangling from thin air, robes hanging down, covering his face to expose graying underpants. Hermione frowned and squinted. There was a circle of students around the dangling boy, some laughing, and some looking excited or anxious. A red-haired girl was marching toward a boy with messy black hair who looked like he had just received a cut down his cheek.

"Harry?" Hermione whispered.

She moved numbly toward the crowd, her mind whirring all the while. What was going on? How could Harry be at Hogwarts when she had just left him standing in Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes?

And then it hit her. The scene playing out in front of her bore a striking resemblance to the flash of Harry's memory that she had received just before her botched Apparition. Could she have popped into the Portable Pensieve? And if so, how did one pop back out of a memory? She had heard Harry talk about his experiences with Dumbledore's Pensieve and she'd read about them of course, but how was she to know if the Portable Pensieve worked anything like a regular Pensieve?

She knew that the twins had claimed that the Portable Pensieve was too small to enter, but apparently that wasn't the case. Even though it meant that the invention had malfunctioned, she felt a small bit of relief in knowing that at least she hadn't been able to actually Apparate to Hogwarts. A voice pulled her back to the memory playing out in front of her.

"Let him down!" the red-haired girl said angrily.

"Certainly," replied Harry, looking smug. He jerked his wand upwards and the upside-down figure fell to the ground in a heap.

Hermione had to stop herself from shouting at Harry. She knew that it wouldn't do any good to shout at a memory, but she could hardly believe that he had hexed a seemingly helpless student and been so cavalier about it. _Come to think of it, _Hermione thought_, I can't remember hearing about Harry using the _Levicorpus_ spell on anyone other than Ron. Of course, Harry isn't likely to admit to using the Prince's spells to me…_

The figure quickly stumbled to his feet, but Hermione heard someone shout _"Petrificus Totalus!"_ and the skinny, sallow looking boy keeled over again, stiff as a board.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" the red-haired girl shouted.

Hermione was sure that she didn't recognize the girl, or any of the students gathered around Harry for that matter. She peered at the boy who had shouted the last hex. He was strikingly handsome and had very dark hair that hung in front of his eyes. She had never seen him before either. Just when had this memory occurred?

"Ah, Evans, don't make me hex you," Hermione heard Harry call.

_Evans?_ Hermione's mind was racing. Something finally clicked. _Red hair. Evans. Her eyes_.

"Take the curse off him, then!" the redhead snapped.

_He looks so much like Harry…._

"There you go," the boy who looked like Harry said as he muttered a counter-curse. "You're lucky Evans was here, Snivellus—"

_Snivellus? _Hermione's eyes widened. She had heard that nickname before_._

"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!" the newly freed boy shouted.

So this wasn't Harry's memory at all…

"Fine. I won't bother in future. And I'd wash your pants if I were you, _Snivellus_," the redhead spat.

How could Harry have come into possession of this memory? He wasn't alive to see it, obviously, but what other answer could there be? _He either received this memory from Professor Lupin, Sirius, or… Snape._

"APOLOGIZE TO EVANS!" the Harry look-alike roared, pointing his wand at the skinny boy.

"I don't want _you_ to make him apologize. You're as bad as he is!" the girl retorted.

"What? I'd NEVER call you a—you-know-what!"

…_These people were James and Lily Potter_? Hermione's eyebrows drew together as she studied the figures in the memory.

"Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you've just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can—I'm surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me SICK."

Hermione watched in utter shock as the red-haired girl finished her tirade and spun on her heal, storming off toward the castle. She was second-guessing herself now. There was no way that these were Harry's parents. The redhead clearly _loathed_ this Harry clone.

"Evans! Hey, EVANS!" the boy shouted after her.

_It has to be, though. A redhead named Evans. A boy who could be Harry's twin. Snivellus?_

"What is it with her?" Harry/James asked, trying to appear unaffected by the girl's outburst.

"Reading between the lines, I'd say she thinks you're a bit conceited, mate," the handsome boy replied.

"Right. Right—" Harry/James started. He pulled out his wand suddenly and in a flash the boy called Snivellus was hanging upside-down again.

"Who wants to see me take off Snivelly's pants?" Harry/James asked cruelly.

"NO!" Hermione heard a voice cry.

It wasn't until she saw the Harry clone and the handsome boy turn to stare at her that she realized it was she who had screamed the order.

"Do we _know_ you?" the handsome boy sneered.

Hermione's eyes grew impossibly wide. She felt her stomach stink to her ankles. _This is not happening_, her brain insisted.

From all she had read about entering a Pensieve, and that included an entire tome called _Reliving The Past: The Pensieve Owner's Manual_, the viewer was an invisible entity in the memory. No one in the memory could see, hear, or feel the viewer. But she had forgotten herself in the memory, feeling pity for this memory of Snape, and had screamed at James Potter to stop tormenting him.

And he had clearly heard her.

_No, not possible_, Hermione said to herself. She whipped around and looked behind her, positive that she would see some other witch or wizard to whom the handsome boy had just spoken.

No one.

_This is bad, _Hermione's brain now asserted. _So very bad._

"Well?" the handsome boy demanded. "Gonna introduce yourself or what? You Snivelly's girlfriend?"

Hermione looked at him, frozen in place. Her chest was heaving. She felt sure that she was about to faint or vomit or possibly both at the same time, if that was possible.

"Dumbledore," she managed to choke out. "I need to see Dumbledore."

"Oh, we've got a snitch in our midst boys," the handsome boy said nastily. "You want to run and tell Dumbledore about poor _Snivelly_, do you?"

"Come on James, let him down. This has gone far enough," came a quiet voice. Hermione glanced at a boy with shaggy light brown hair who had been reading a book. His face held the longsuffering look of someone much older than himself.

Suddenly it hit Hermione like a bludger to the stomach. This was Remus Lupin. Which meant that the handsome boy currently shooting daggers at her was Sirius Black.

"Be cool Moony," replied Sirius in a composed voice. "We're just trying to figure out who Snivelly's new savior is."

_HOW CAN THIS BE HAPPENING? _Hermione's mind screamed. _You can't Apparate back in time! Oh something has gone terrible wrong. How am I going to get back?_

The solution struck her rather suddenly, and she was surprised that she hadn't thought of it sooner. She felt around her neck for the Apparition-Aide. _I'll just pop back… and kill Fred and George_, she thought frantically. _It should work. Just pop back…_

But when she pulled the device out from beneath her cloak with shaking fingers, she immediately realized that there was something wrong. It was hot to the touch and a thick spiral of orange smoke had begun curling out from its edges. Remembering Fred's story ("_sure it got a little hot, and sure it exploded upon my arrival back at the shop_…"), she quickly removed the chain from her neck and held the gadget at arm's length. Sure enough, without a moment to spare, there was a bright flash of orange light, and the Apparition-Aide exploded, falling into charred pieces at Hermione's feet.

"What the hell was that?" Hermione heard James Potter exclaim, but she did not look up. She stared at the blackened pieces of what was her only way home.

~o~o~o~

There was a loud crack, and then an eerie silence settled over the room.

"What just happened?" Harry asked, breaking the quiet. He was clearly still in a bit of a daze from being shocked out of his memory. The mirror lay on the floor at his feet, but he saw nothing in it save his reflection now.

"Hermione disapparated, right?" Ron said, looking to his brothers for confirmation.

Fred pretended to do a headcount before proudly holding up four fingers. "Excellent observation little brother. There is one less person here than there was a moment ago, and I don't see Hermione anywhere, therefore she must have disapparated!"

Ron scowled at him.

"Where did she Apparate to?" Harry asked.

"Right this way, gentleman," George said, striding out of the back room and into the shop. "The talented witch should be waiting right outside the shop for us." The group followed him out the front door, but when they emerged, none of them could spot a bushy head of hair.

"Where is she?" Ron asked, sounding slightly nervous.

"Er… She probably came in when we were still in the back room. Must've have missed her in the crowd," Fred offered. The group reentered the store and split up to find Hermione, but met back up at the front counter empty-handed.

"Did something go wrong? Where is she?" Harry asked. He felt the first tugs of panic. Fred and George shared a tense look.

"I'm sure she just… er—" George started.

"How much for the puking pastilles?" a very young boy interrupted. He held up a green box imploringly.

"Can't you read?" George spat, pointing toward the sign beneath the puking pastilles.

"No," the boy answered simply. George's mouth twitched.

"Bloody hell—How young are you? What do you even need these for? It's not like you need to skive off classes. What are you going to do, skip your bedtime story? Honestly!" George bellowed. The boy squeaked and dropped the box before darting off and disappearing into the crowd.

"Lovely customer service there, George," Fred muttered.

"We have bigger problems right now, don't you agree? Such as, oh I don't know, losing a witch!" George hissed.

"WHAT?" Ron and Harry shouted at the same time.

"Back room!" Fred ordered. The group shuffled back behind the curtain to the stock room and Ron immediately started in on his brothers.

"HOW COULD YOU LOSE HERMIONE?" he barked as soon as the curtain was shut.

"Now, don't panic. She'll turn up," Fred reasoned.

"What do you mean, 'she'll turn up?'" Ron demanded incredulously. "It's not as though she's a lost quill! We can't just retrace our steps and stumble across her!"

"Something funny happened when she bumped in to me," Harry said, staring at the Portable Pensieve, which still lay abandoned on the floor.

"What?" asked George, eagerly.

"Just before I heard the crack, she sort of sank partway into the Pensieve," Harry said.

"Not possible," George said warily.

"Not all the way, just up to her elbows," Harry said. "Maybe it wasn't deep enough to let her all the way in."

"Fred, when you popped into the Quidditch World Cup stadium… you said there were still people there?" George asked quietly.

"Yeah. Loads of them. And there was a game going on," Fred said slowly.

"You don't think…" George trailed off.

"Well, I _was_ thinking about the World Cup…" Fred said.

There was a pause, and then slowly everyone's gaze turned to the Portable Pensieve, still lying on the floor. Ron was the first to break the silence.

"ARE YOU SAYING YOUR MIRROR ATE HERMIONE?"

~o~o~o~

"Well, are you going to say _anything_?" James Potter demanded, but Hermione was still staring at the wreckage of the Apparition Aide.

"If that was a dungbomb, I'd get my money back. I don't smell anything but smoke," another voice called.

Hermione's head snapped up and she gaped at her best friend's father, then at Snape, who was still frozen stiff as a board at their feet. _I can't say or do anything that might affect the past_, Hermione thought hysterically.

"Convincing impression of a trout out of water," Sirius snapped at her. "Now we're going to go back to teaching Snivellus here a lesson, unless his secret admirer would care to intervene on his behalf?"

Clamping her hands over her mouth, Hermione shook her head. Then, without a word, she turned and sprinted towards the castle doors. She heard the crowd start up again as she went.

"Oh, Snape that's got to hurt—abandoned by two girls within minutes. Although, to be fair, this is most likely the first time you've interacted with so many girls at once," she heard Sirius taunt.

Then James shouted, "_Flipendo!"_ and she heard a dozen or so cheers.

Barely pausing to open the doors, Hermione bolted through the entryway and toward the stairs. Up and up she went, her legs burning by the time she reached the seventh floor. Her eyes scanned the wall for a familiar stone gargoyle. Panting furiously, she approached the statue at a trot and immediately began running through a list of possible passwords.

"Cauldron cakes," she wheezed.

Nothing.

"Fizzing Whizbees."

Nothing.

"Chocolate frogs."

Nothing.

"Pumpkin juice."

Nothing still.

"You're getting closer," said a soft voice.

Hermione spun around, still panting, only to come face to face with a slightly tousled and equally winded-looking Remus Lupin. Hermione could think of nothing to say to her former professor without causing damage to the fabric of time, so she fell mute.

Lupin squinted curiously at her before speaking once more.

"Listen, I know that James and Sirius were a bit out of line, but you heard what Snape called Lily. It's certainly not worth telling the Headmaster about," he said reasonably.

He gave her a gentle smile, and Hermione felt the need to say _something_.

"I'm not going to tell on them. I just need to talk to Professor Dumbledore," she blustered.

"I'm a prefect," he said, helpfully tugging at his badge. "Is it something I could assist you with?"

Hermione swallowed hard, knowing that Lupin did not believe her and was trying to distract her from Dumbledore.

"No, it isn't," she said shortly. "Cockroach Clusters," she tried.

"You were closer before," Lupin said offhandedly.

She shot him a warning look, but said nothing.

"You're wearing a cloak," he commented.

Hermione paused and looked down at her outfit.

"So?" she replied.

"It's the end of June. Why would you need a cloak?" he asked.

Hermione froze. That was a very good question.

"I get cold easily," she stammered. "Look, if you're a prefect then you know the password. Please tell me what it is."

Before Lupin could decide whether or not to trust this strange girl, the statue of the gargoyle leapt to the side, revealing the very person that Hermione was hoping to see.

"Ah, Mr. Lupin, I see that you have shown my guest to my office for our meeting. Thank you," Albus Dumbledore said, smiling calmly.

~o~o~o~

Did you know that readers who leave reviews live, on average, seven years longer than those who don't according to a recent clinical study?* It's true!**

*Conducted in my imagination.

**It's not.


	3. Chapter 3

Celebration time- I found a beta reader! Actually two of them! And they're awesome!

A/N: Big thanks to Ichigh0st and silver eyed vampwolf for beta reading! It's such an enormous help. And thanks to everyone who reviewed. I'm excited that you're still hooked. I promise that chapter 4 will have a ton of Marauder action. This one mainly features Dumbledore, but he is probably my favorite character to write (except Fred and George, of course).

Last chapter:

"_Ah, Mr. Lupin, I see that you have shown my guest to my office for our meeting. Thank you," Albus Dumbledore said, smiling calmly._

~o~o~o~

Hermione managed to hold back her gut reaction, which was to stare open-mouthed at the Headmaster and ask him what in the world he was talking about. Instead, she froze, wanting to see what would happen next.

"Guest?" Lupin repeated.

"Yes, Mr. Lupin, I do get guests on occasion, sometimes very prestigious ones at that. I did, after all, just get my own Chocolate Frogs card. My reputation is beginning to precede me," Dumbledore mused.

"You mean she's not a student?" Lupin asked, befuddled.

"Certainly not," Dumbledore said. "Do you remember ever seeing this young woman in Hogwarts?"

Lupin looked back at Hermione and frowned. After a moment it seemed to dawn on him that she was entirely unfamiliar.

"Now, if you will excuse us, Mr. Lupin, my guest and I have some business to attend to," the old man said kindly.

Lupin reluctantly nodded, obviously suspicious. For her part, Hermione managed to give him a tight smile as if to say, 'Yes, did I forget to mention my meeting?' Under Dumbledore's watchful eye, the young werewolf retreated slowly down the hall. When he had finally disappeared around the corner, Dumbledore refocused his attention on Hermione.

"Well, shall we then?" he asked.

"Shall we what?" Hermione asked dazedly.

"Pumpkin Pasties," Dumbledore intoned.

The gargoyle leapt aside once more, revealing the ascending spiral staircase. Without another word, Dumbledore stepped onto the staircase, and Hermione was forced to follow or be shut out.

When she emerged into the large circular room, Dumbledore was already slipping into his high-backed chair. He casually waved his hand as she approached his desk, and a chair slid behind Hermione.

"Lemon drop?" he offered.

Confused, Hermione shook her head and slid into the empty seat. Dumbledore un- wrapped a yellow candy and popped it into his mouth. His casual act was unnerving. Hermione opened her mouth a few times experimentally, but no sound came out. She had no clue where to start. It was at this moment that Dumbledore addressed her.

"I think it's best we begin our conversation now, Miss…"

"Granger," Hermione supplied automatically. As soon as the words were out she slapped her hands over her mouth and squeaked, "I shouldn't have said that!"

Dumbledore tilted his head and gave her a curious look.

"I can assure you, Miss Granger, that I will be very discreet about your coming here if not doing so would bring you harm," he said reassuringly.

"It's not me that I'm worried about," she mumbled, sinking lower into her chair.

Dumbledore said nothing at this, but continued on as if he hadn't heard her comment.

"I would introduce myself, but I have gotten the impression that you already know who I am," Dumbledore said wryly. "Are you a Chocolate Frogs fan?"

Upon Hermione's silence, he continued.

"I am quite an accomplished Legilimens. Did you know this, Miss Granger?"

"I always assumed you were, Sir," she replied.

"Good. Then you will believe me when I tell you that I will know if you lie to me," he continued, still smiling genially.

Hermione opened her mouth to protest but he waved her off.

"I do not mean to accuse you of being a liar, Miss Granger. I can already tell that you did not come to Hogwarts with bad intentions. However, I must admit I am unsettled. I felt a disturbance in the protective wards surrounding the school but I am at quite a loss as to how and why you came to be here."

"That makes two of us," Hermione muttered.

She glanced at him, regretting her flippant response, but the Headmaster was still smiling.

"I am quite unused to not understanding something. I get the distinct impression that you share this trait with me," he ventured.

Hermione blushed, and a small smile escaped her.

"There is a war going on, which you undoubtedly know," the Headmaster continued. "You can understand my unease at the sudden and mysterious appearance of an unknown witch on school grounds."

Here Dumbledore stopped talking to un-wrap another lemon drop. Hermione understood that it was her turn to speak.

"Professor, I'm not sure how much I should tell you," said Hermione, honestly. There was an uncomfortable pause during which Dumbledore looked at Hermione searchingly and she shifted nervously in her seat. After realizing that Dumbledore was not likely to stop staring at her any time soon, Hermione sighed and said, "I'm not from this time!"

"Ah, I see," Dumbledore said, nodding slowly, as if this exact thing had happened to him just last week. "Well, Miss Granger, I feel it would be best for you to tell me as much as you can about how you arrived here. Only then can I do my best to help you return from whence you came."

When Hermione began to protest, Dumbledore held up a hand and continued. "To put your mind at ease, remember that I can obliviate myself to erase all memories of what you tell me as soon as we get you sorted out. In fact, I strongly suspect that I've obliviated myself in the past, although of course I have no way of knowing for sure."

Hermione frowned, prompting Dumbledore to continue.

"If you know me in your time, I certainly hope that I am still the sort of person whom you can trust to be completely discreet."

"Of course, Headmaster," she said quietly.

She launched into a slow and careful explanation of the events that brought her to Hogwarts while Dumbledore watched over the tops of his half-moon spectacles. He did not interrupt to ask questions, listening intently to her every word. It was not until she was finally finished that he spoke.

"So you think that this 'Apparition-Aide' had the unintended ability to allow you to Apparate into your friend's memory?" he summarized.

"That's my best guess," she replied.

Dumbledore paused and thoughtfully stroked his long silver beard.

"At the moment, it does seem as though recreating the Apparition-Aide is the best course of action. I have a friend who is quite brilliant, and will be the first to tell you so if I'm being perfectly honest. This woman works as an Unspeakable. I trust you know what this title means?" Hermione nodded again. "She is an inventor of sorts, and I shall contact her shortly and explain your situation."

"But sir, I don't think it's wise to tell anyone else about—"

"Please don't worry, Hermione," interrupted Dumbledore smoothly. "The witch in question works in the Department of Mysteries exclusively on issues dealing with time. She can be counted on implicitly for her secrecy."

Hermione bowed her head, feeling somewhat ashamed for questioning Dumbledore, but she could not help the nagging worry that still tugged at her stomach.

"I'm sorry, Professor."

"You have nothing to apologize for," Dumbledore said kindly.

"So assuming that your friend is able to rebuild Fred and George's invention… I could just think of one of my memories from right before I Apparated and use the Apparition-Aide while I was reliving the memory…"

Her voice trailed off as her mind raced. Dumbledore nodded.

"It seems to be our best hope."

"Professor, I have to get back home. My friends need me. I don't belong here," she said desperately.

"Hermione, you have my word that I will do all that I can to help you get home," Dumbledore replied.

He smiled kindly and Hermione found herself weakly returning it.

"In the meantime," Dumbledore began. "We shall have to make arrangements for you. Our students have just finished their exams, and in one week Hogwarts will close for the summer. I am almost positive that we will not have been able recreate your friends' invention that quickly, and so we must find someplace for you to stay in the meantime."

Hermione frowned. She had not thought this far ahead.

"Sir, I don't want to stay anyplace where I might talk to other people. If I let something slip, even something small, and it might affect the future in terrible ways," she said worriedly.

"I do understand your concerns, Hermione. However, I feel it best to consult my friend from the Department of Mysteries about the nature of your case. She may feel that there will be no great threat if you interact with people in this time. However, for the time being, I must echo your caution. Therefore I hope you will accept an offer to stay with me for the summer, at least until we hear from my friend. This would be most ideal since you have already agreed to confide in me. I have a cottage in a Muggle village called Fetterie just a few miles south of Banchory—lovely fiddle music there—to which I retire for the majority of the summer. It is not very large, but there is an extra bedroom, and I would enjoy the company."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled and Hermione found herself frozen with her mouth hanging open. The thought of Dumbledore living somewhere outside the castle walls seemed oddly foreign and somehow… not right. It had never occurred to her that he lived anywhere else during the summer.

"Of course if you prefer, we can explore other options," Dumbledore added.

"No! I mean, staying with you would be fine, sir. Thank you," said Hermione, hurriedly, not wanting to seem ungrateful.

"Excellent! Well now, that just leaves the small matter of what to do with you for the remainder of the week," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "We have some rooms reserved for guests on the sixth floor."

Dumbledore rose from his chair.

"Now perhaps you would like to retire to your room? A lot has happened in a short while and you must be tired. I shall send one of our house-elves bring you some supper."

"Thank you," Hermione answered quickly, resisting the urge to say that she'd be glad to get her own supper; she didn't need an elf waiting on her. She felt that such a response might seem unappreciative. Instead she asked where her room was. Dumbledore supplied the directions to the portrait of Fulbert the Fearful on the sixth floor and gave her the password ("Dragon Pox").

Hermione left Dumbledore's office in a bit of a daze, but quickly gathered her senses. She crept stealthily through the corridors, not wanting to be seen by any students, and found the portrait of Fulbert the Fearful. Hermione vaguely remembered the name. He was a wizard famous for being so afraid of so many things that he never left his home and finally died when his roof collapsed because of a backfiring defensive charm. While she knew the rudiments of his story, Hermione had never actually seen him. His portrait was no longer hanging in Hogwarts in her time. Well, at least not anywhere Hermione had noticed.

Fulbert was a small man so skinny that his translucent skin drooped from his bones like a tablecloth. His forehead was creased with deep lines and he had enormous, glassy eyes that darted back and forth down the corridor, so that he noticed Hermione as soon as she turned the corner and approached his frame.

"Who are you? What do you want!" the wizard shrieked. Hermione nervously looked behind her to see if anyone was there. She thought that she caught the wisp of a robe out of the corner of her eye, but realized that it was probably just a frizzy curl moving as she turned her head.

"Please keep your voice down. I can't be seen," she whispered.

"Why? Are you on the run? You've done something terrible, haven't you? Slashed a portrait, I bet!" his voice grew louder and higher, to a girlish pitch.

"Shhh! I've done nothing of the sort!"

"Of course you wouldn't admit to it! I'm right, aren't I? Oh, please don't slash me! I've a weak heart!" He balled his fists up over his chest, clutching his periwinkle robes.

"Goodness, calm down!" Hermione urged. When Fulbert started to run from his frame, Hermione cried out, "Wait! Dragon Pox!"

Fulbert crept back into his frame, eyes wide as saucers.

"Dragon Pox! Good Merlin, are you infected? Stay back!" he tugged the collar of his robes up over his nose and mouth like a Muggle surgical mask.

"That's the password, isn't it?" Hermione hissed.

"What?" Fulbert cried, but it was muffled as his robes still covered his mouth. Then he frowned. "Oh." He pulled his robes back down his shoulders sagged in relief. "Right. Of course. The password. In you go, then," he said.

And with that the portrait finally swung aside to reveal a small guest room. Hermione was still reeling from her odd encounter with the portrait to truly appreciate the room. It wasn't until she plopped down on the bed that she realized how good it felt. There was already a fire lit in the little flue next to her bed, and the covers were turned down for her and a set of crimson pajamas lay on top of her pillow. She didn't want to think about anything that had happened, but she couldn't turn her brain off. It was a frequent frustration for her. She robotically changed into the pajamas while replaying the day's events in her mind again and again. Just as she was about to climb under the covers, she heard a CRACK and spun around.

Standing in the doorway was a female house-elf wearing a disgusting floral dishcloth as a toga. She was holding a tray piled high with snacks and tea.

"This is for Miss, if Miss pleases," the elf squeaked, giving Hermione a generous smile.

"Oh, well..." Hermione paused for a moment, and found that the very thought of food made her stomach turn. "I appreciate the thought, but I'm afraid I was about to turn in for the night."

"Oh! Tippy is sorry to disturb Miss then!" the elf squeaked. And before Hermione could tell her that there was nothing to apologize for, the elf disappeared, tray and all.

Hermione crawled into bed, and took several deep breaths. The fire was crackling quietly, casting shadows on the walls, but Hermione could focus on nothing but the terrible panic building in her chest her. She felt as though something hot and liquid was squirming around in her stomach. Try as she might to convince herself that everything would be all right, that Dumbledore would get her back home, she couldn't squelch that terrible worried feeling. It was a long time before she was able to drift off, and even then her sleep was troubled.

_She was standing by the lake at Hogwarts. Dangling upside down in thin air was Draco Malfoy, whose green and silver boxers were on display. A crowd of students surrounded him, pointing and laughing. Harry was holding the wand that was pointed at Malfoy. Ron applauded raucously while Ginny rushed toward Harry, screaming at him to let Malfoy down. _

_Harry argued that he couldn't let Malfoy down, because Malfoy was working for Voldemort and he could prove this beyond all doubt by showing everyone his boxer shorts. Ginny insisted that Harry was crazy, and Harry finally lifted the curse. As soon as Malfoy was on his feet again, he whipped around to face Harry and shouted, 'Avada Kedavra!' A flash of green light flew toward Harry and missed him by centimeters. The green blur flew past him and hit Professor Dumbledore, who was strolling by admiring his new Chocolate Frogs card, unaware of the situation. Dumbledore's lifeless body hit the ground, and everyone in the crowd began screaming._

Hermione woke up, panting and dizzy. She could feel cold sweat trickling down the ridge of her nose and in between her shoulder blades.

The fire was still lit and she lay awake in bed for the rest of the night, listening to its steady crackling and trying to push away all troubling thoughts. When morning finally came, she was exhausted and no less worried. As the first rays of sunlight came streaming in through the gaps in her curtains, she realized that she was positively ravenous. No sooner had the thought entered her mind than there was a small POP and the house-elf called Tippy stood in the doorway, weighted down by an enormous breakfast tray.

"Will Miss want to eat now?" Tippy squeaked, barely visible under the edges of the tray.

Hermione rushed to the house-elf and lifted the tray from the creature's hands and placed it on a small table near her bed.

"Thank you so much, Tippy. I was feeling absolutely famished," she said truthfully.

"Tippy is so happy to serve a guest of Albus Dumbledore, Miss!" the delighted elf chirped.

Then there was another POP and she was gone, leaving Hermione with enough breakfast to feed an army of students, or Ron on a light day. Taking a saucer of tea, two pieces of toast, two sausages, and a small plate of beans, Hermione tucked in. She was halfway through her meal when there was a knock at the portrait door.

Her heart began to ricochet off her ribs.

_Who could that be?_

Gulping down a mouthful of beans, Hermione rushed to grab the robe draped over an empty chair. She tightened the belt and snatched her wand from the bedside table. Staying a good ten feet back from the portrait hole, she muttered a spell that sent the portrait door flying open to reveal Dumbledore. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

"I apologize for visiting at such an early hour, Miss Granger, but I thought it best that we should discuss some specifics of your stay before the hustle and bustle of the final week of term takes over," he said gently, his long robes shifting as he stepped into the room.

"Of course, sir," Hermione said. "Would you care for some breakfast? Tippy was kind enough to bring me more food than I could possibly put away myself."

She gestured at the tray, and Dumbledore commented that the bacon sandwiches and kippers looked too good to pass up. Hermione poured him a cup of tea while he assembled a plate of food for himself, and she took his momentary distraction as an opportunity to take in his appearance more closely.

_He looks exactly the same in the future_, she mused. Although, that wasn't really true. As she examined his face she noted a certain youthful exuberance that she had not seen in _her_ Dumbledore as of late. The Dumbledore from her time was looking more tired that she had ever seen him look before. And then he shifted to take a helping of fried eggs she saw his right hand. It was completely unmarked, not the blackened dead appendage that it had become.

"Delicious!" Dumbledore announced, after taking a large bite of his bacon sandwich.

Hermione smiled, all serious contemplation dissipating at the sight before her. She went back to her plate of beans, deciding to let him speak first. After finishing his sandwich, he did.

"I think perhaps it would be best if we agreed upon a back story for you," her Headmaster said after a dainty sip of tea.

"What were you thinking, sir?" she asked.

"It should be something that could carry us well into the school year, just in case my friend at the Department of Mysteries is unable to send you home before then."

When Hermione protested, he assured her again that he would never put her in a situation that could cause irreparable harm to her future.

"That being said," he continued. "We must come up with a reason for your sudden appearance at Hogwarts in your… I'm sorry dear, what year are you in?"

"Sixth," Hermione supplied.

"Right. Why would a witch suddenly transfer to Hogwarts in year six? I believe that with the current climate of prejudice the easiest answers lies in blood purity."

"What? I should say I'm Muggleborn?"

"No, Miss Granger. We have many Muggleborn students of course. I think you must be a half-blood of a different sort. Having a parent that is a human-like magical creature but not recognized by the ministry as a witch or wizard could explain your failure to get a Hogwarts letter. What do you think—vampire, hag, banshee? Werewolf perhaps?" he suggested.

Hermione's eyes widened at the last option.

"Not werewolf," she quickly replied, thinking that it might make contact with Lupin more likely. "Vampires enjoy recognition in many illustrious circles, don't they?" she asked, remembering that there was a vampire present at one of Slughorn's parties.

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully.

"Yes, you are correct. Not the best choice then, I suppose. Will it be Hag or banshee?"

"Banshee, I guess," Hermione ventured.

Thinking back on Hagrid's treatment as a half-giant, she supposed that being half-banshee could explain her failure to assimilate into Wizarding society for sixteen years.

"Excellent. We shall say that your father had a brief relationship with a banshee. Banshees are known to eat children, so upon your birth, he stole you away for your own safety. Being only half-witch, he knew you would not be accepted by most in the Wizarding community so he raised you himself, giving you the best education he could until his untimely death this month. We will say that this is the point at which I became aware of your existence, and assured you that a half-banshee would be welcome at Hogwarts."

He paused to take a bite of kippers.

"Too sensational?" he asked with a slightly full mouth.

"Maybe, Professor. But it will do" she replied, smiling. "What about my name? Shouldn't I call myself something else?"

"You may keep your name. If circumstances call for it, I know a simple substitution charm that will cause the people who have met you to remember you by a different name after your departure," Dumbledore reassured her.

He rose from his chair and murmured a spell that cleaned his plate.

"I shall pop in on you now and again this week to see that you are doing well. Until I speak with my friend the Unspeakable, I suggest that you avoid contact with the student body."

"Of course, sir," Hermione replied.

"Is there anything that would make your stay this week more enjoyable? I know it won't be fun being cooped up in this room."

"Books," she blurted, unable to stop herself.

He smiled knowingly and Hermione blushed.

"I shall see to it that Tippy brings you as many as you like," he said.

Hermione could no longer hold back.

"Sir, I really must protest at being waited on by a house-elf," she said hesitantly.

"Oh?" was all Dumbledore replied.

"I don't believe in relying on the labor of magical creatures that have been forced into servitude," Hermione added.

"A position to be commended," Dumbledore said kindly, and Hermione thought he looked sincere. "However the only other option is for either you or me to get the books. I have duties to fulfill as Headmaster and you cannot risk being seen. Therefore, I think a house-elf is our only real option for the time being."

Hermione considered this carefully, trying to find some hole in his logic, but could not. She nodded begrudgingly and agreed.

"Well then, I'm off to owl my friend. I will be sure to let you know the moment I hear from her."

Moments after Dumbledore left her quarters, Tippy appeared to get her book requests. She guiltily left the house-elf with orders to bring back any books written on the topics of time travel, Wizarding history of the 1960s and '70s, or banshees.

~o~o~o~

The next few days passed in a blur. Tippy brought stack after stack of books, and Hermione devoured them one after another. She found out that the furthest recorded jump through time was nine days by a wizard named Bradley Crenshaw who greased his time turner and twisted it whilst riding on his broomstick in strong winds for maximum utility. Unfortunately he emerged in the middle of a thunderstorm and was immediately struck by lightning and killed. She learned that Newt Scamander spent three months living with a pod of banshees on the outskirts of Andorra. After casting a necessary deafening charm on himself, he was able to observe the creatures with immunity to their fatal screams. His conclusion was that banshees were violent, fiercely protective of their own, and had terrible table manners.

So absorbed was she in her reading that the only way Hermione knew that four days had passed was by counting the number of breakfasts that Tippy brought to her room. Dumbledore knocked twice a day to check on her status. On the third day he informed her that his friend the Unspeakable would meet them at his cottage as soon as they arrived at the end of the term.

Hermione was currently in the middle of a book called "_452 Ways to Get Yourself Killed by Meddling with Time_" when her stomach growled. It was a noise so ferocious that she dropped her book in surprise. Tippy had left a dinner tray, but Hermione was too engrossed in her reading to eat at the time. That was six hours ago, and the thought of casting a warming charm on a six-hour-old Bedfordshire clanger was not appetizing in the least.

Her stomach growled again, spurning her to act. Throwing on her cloak and taking her wand from the table, she slipped out of her room.

"Who's that? Who's moving my portrait?" Fulbert squealed.

"Shhh!" Hermione hissed. "Who do you think it is, you dolt? It's me, your houseguest!"

Fulbert, who had scaled the walls in fright, gingerly lowered himself back to the ground and tried to muster as much indignation as possible.

"I'll thank you not to take that tone with me, miss. I'm merely being watchful," Fulbert whimpered crossly.

'_Merely being mental_,' Hermione heard in Ron's voice.

"Terribly sorry, Fulbert. What if I give a gentle knock before I leave next time?" she asked politely.

Fulbert sniffed, but admitted that a knock would be very satisfactory. Not really listening to his response, Hermione started towards the stairs, wishing all the while that she had been in possession of Harry's invisibility cloak when she was thrust backward in time. Carefully checking behind her as she went, Hermione flew down seven flights of stairs to the dungeons. Slipping through the door to the right, she followed the corridor until she came to an enormous still life featuring a bowl of fruit.

Hermione reached out and gently tickled the pear, which giggled and molded itself into a door handle. She opened the door and tiptoed into the kitchen, hoping to sneak in and out without meeting any house-elves. She felt guilty enough about Tippy being at her beck and call and didn't need a hoard of eager house-elves rushing to wait on her. However, as soon as she entered she was spotted by a male house-elf crouching under the weight of a large tray of pastries.

"Masters didn't mention that they were expecting company!" the elf squeaked in surprise. He quickly held out the tray to Hermione with a wide grin. "Please take!" he said graciously.

"Oh! Er, thank you!" After a moment's hesitation Hermione grabbed a brioche from the tray.

"Come, us has already set out a spread for masters in the back. You must join them," the elf urged, tugging at Hermione's hand. Hermione's eyes widened.

"No!" she yelped. The elf looked up at her in concern, as if he was worried he had hurt her in some way. "It's just that I'm very tired and I must go back to bed now," Hermione quickly amended. She knew she had to get out of the kitchen before whichever 'masters' were in the room spotted her.

"Miss must at least let Droopy prepare her a basket of goodies, yes? Some scones and some jams?" Droopy implored. Hermione was about to tell him that she'd take him up on the offer some other time, when a male voice rang out.

"Oy! Where are you with those éclairs?"

Hermione dropped her brioche and scrambled for cover. However, the nearest large object was a pile of pots and pans clear across the room. So when the person who called out to Droopy came into view, Hermione was frozen in a crouching position in the dead center of the room. She just squeezed her eyes shut in the hopes that it would somehow render her invisible.

"What the blazes—hey I know you! Hey guys, it's the bird who tried to rescue Snivellus!"

~o~o~o~

You know what I heard on the news today? Every time you leave a review, a fanfic author gets her wings! Do you really want to be responsible for the outcome when I jump off my roof, expecting to take flight and it turns out my wings never formed?

Well, do you?


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks again to my wonderfully talented beta reader, silver eyed vampwolf. And just a little warning—I'm a high school teacher and school starts this week. That means that updates are not going to come quite so quickly. I apologize in advance. Just keep on me, and I promise I won't abandon this one.

Last chapter:

Hermione dropped her brioche and scrambled for cover. However, the nearest large object was a pile of pots and pans clear across the room. So when the person who called out to Droopy came into view, Hermione was frozen in a crouching position in the dead center of the room. She just squeezed her eyes shut in the hopes that it would somehow render her invisible.

"What the blazes—hey I know you! Hey guys, it's the bird who tried to rescue Snivellus!"

~o~o~o~

No such luck.

Hermione sprung upright. There was no mistaking the boy in front of her. He was squat and plump with small watery eyes, thin colorless hair, and a sharp rat-like nose. Peter Pettigrew. This, unfortunately, meant that the rest of the Marauders would be close by.

"V-very sorry to have disturbed—I'll just be going now," she stammered.

She turned and made a beeline for the door, but before she made it, three other people entered the room at a jog.

"_Locomotor Mortis_!"

The spell hit Hermione when she was just steps from the door. The Leg-Locker Curse did what it was meant to do, and she cried out as her forward momentum sent her crashing to the floor. A split second before impact, however, another voice called out, "_Mobilicorpus_!" Suddenly Hermione felt herself gliding up and across the room. In the process, the rest of the Marauders came into view. Panicked, Hermione prepared herself to perform a counter-curse, but before she could move her wand, it flew from her grasp. Someone had performed a silent _Accio_ charm, an impressive feat for a student. The wand flew into the outstretched hand of James Potter.

"Now, now, why run off so soon? We're having our own little end-of-year feast and you're our surprise guest of honor!" James said cheerfully.

Hermione had to bite her tongue because she was about to blurt forth with, '_Harry, you release me from this curse immediately!_'. It was uncanny, the father-son resemblance. Instead, Hermione tried for a more sensible response.

"I'd hate to intrude. I just came down for a late night snack. I'll grab a sandwich and be on my way, if you don't mind."

She smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring manner.

"Be on your way where exactly?" Sirius asked. "Remus here tells us that you're a 'special guest' of Dumbledore's. You're not staying in the old man's quarters are you?"

Peter sniggered.

"I doubt she's that kind of 'special guest,' Padfoot," James said, smirking.

"Don't be foul," Hermione snapped. She couldn't help herself.

Sirius grinned.

"My mistake," he said, holding up his hands in surrender. "Let me make it up to you by sharing our magnificent spread."

"You can make it up to me by unbinding me and letting me go back to my room," Hermione said with a sniff, all pretense of friendliness gone.

"Padfoot, she's a guest of the headmaster. Do you really think it wise to hold her somewhere against her will?" Lupin asked quietly. As far as Hermione could tell he was the person who saved her from crashing headfirst onto the kitchen floor.

Just then Hermione's stomach let out another tremendous rumble.

"Did you hear that Moony? The girl's starving! I'm not holding her anywhere against her will. The poor thing's shy and I'm trying to give her a real Hogwarts feast!" Sirius replied with relish.

Lupin considered this for a second before replying.

"We do have rather a lot of food to share, and you sound famished. What do you say?"

Hermione wanted to be anywhere but in this room with these wizards. These were the very people whose futures she could alter the most by her mere presence. And yet, wouldn't refusing to join them and running away only peak their curiosity and make them more likely to seek her out? That thought, combined with yet another growl from her stomach convinced Hermione that the best option would be to go along with the Marauders.

"All right, but only for a little while," she finally conceded.

In an instant she was released from her bonds, her wand was back in her hand, and she was ushered further back into the kitchens where a feast grander than the beginning-of-term banquet met her eyes.

"Milady," James Potter said with great flourish, pulling out a chair for Hermione.

She slipped into the seat and the boys did the same. However, nobody started to eat. Each of the four boys stared at Hermione with a slightly different expression. Remus looked anxious, Pettigrew merely curious, James and Sirius positively mischievous.

Hermione cleared her throat.

"Don't let me keep you from your food. Please dig in," she said awkwardly.

"Well, before we eat we should properly introduce ourselves, don't you think?" Sirius asked. Not waiting for her to respond, the Marauders began.

"I am Sirius Black, although my compatriots call me Mister Padfoot. Proud family outcast, mischief maker, and lover of witches," he said extravagantly, waggling his eyebrows at Hermione like a black and white Muggle film villain.

Hermione blushed, and James took the opportunity to begin his introduction.

"I'm James Potter, also known as Prongs. I'm a Transfiguration expert and the future Mr. Lily Evans. I am the best chaser to grace the halls of Hogwarts in fifty years."

He gestured to Pettigrew, whose beady eyes darted back and forth nervously.

"Peter Pettigrew, or Wormtail. I, er, player of… I mean…"

"Don't strain yourself, Pete," Sirius said, his barking laughter echoing off the kitchen walls.

Peter looked mildly peeved, but fell silent. The boys looked expectantly at Lupin.

"Remus Lupin," he said.

That was all. Sirius grinned.

"Come on, Moony! You forgot your nickname. Honestly, where's your head tonight?"

Lupin sunk deeper into his chair. Hermione thought she saw the faint hint of a blush.

"My mistake," he said curtly.

"And your name?" James asked Hermione.

"My name is..." she paused.

Dumbledore said that she could use her real name. That must've meant that the elder wizard _did_ end up using his substitution spell, because Lupin, Sirius, and Wormtail showed no sign of remembering her in the future.

"Hermione Granger," she finished.

"Hermione?" Lupin repeated. "Like the Shakespearean queen?"

"Oh, yes actually," she said, smiling. She was surprised. "My mum and dad—er, my dad loves _Winter's Tale_. He named me for the queen."

_Stupid, Hermione! Your mum? The banshee is a big fan of Shakespeare, aye?_

"What are we talking about?" Peter asked.

"An old Muggle play. I read it in Muggle Studies third year," Remus supplied.

"Of course you did, Remus," James said, rolling his eyes. "Is there anything you _haven't_ read?"

"I like to read as well," Hermione offered, saving Remus from having to reply.

"So you are Hermione Granger, lover of books. What else? We're very curious about you, you know," James informed her.

Hermione took a deep breath. Well, there was no time like the present to try out her new life story, was there?

"I might be attending Hogwarts in the fall. I'm here to visit and see if it's something I'm interested in," she said.

Lupin looked skeptical.

"Hogwarts doesn't accept transfer students," he said.

"Yeah, where've you been if not at Hogwarts?" Peter added.

"I never got a Hogwarts letter," she said simply.

"Impossible. Unless you're a squib, you get a letter," Sirius retorted.

"Not a squib, but equally unrecognized by the Wizarding world," she said mysteriously.

James smiled, his interest piqued.

"So what are you then?" he asked.

"My dad had a very brief and unhappy relationship with a… banshee," she said hesitantly.

James gaped openly. Sirius swore under his breath. Peter giggled nervously. Remus's expression was unreadable.

"You're half banshee?" the latter boy asked.

"Not exactly known for their maternal instinct, are they?" James questioned.

"No, quite the opposite, actually," Hermione admitted. "Dad was terrified when he found out that my mother was pregnant. As soon as I was born, he spirited me away to the country. I never knew my mum."

"Probably just as well. She might've seen you as more of a bonbon than a baby," Peter snickered.

Hermione tried to look stricken, figuring that a half-banshee would be offended by such a comment. The other three boys immediately noticed her expression.

"Stuff it, Wormtail," Sirius ordered.

Peter huffed, but obeyed.

"Anyway," Hermione continued. "Dad knew when I didn't get my letter that I'd been rejected by the Magical community. They didn't see me as a witch, despite the fact that I'd been doing accidental magic since the age of three. Dad knew I had the ability, so he taught me himself."

"Home schooling, ay?" James said thoughtfully. "So, why have you only just been accepted at Hogwarts?"

Hermione swallowed hard, knowing that she should produce some tears at this point if possible.

"Dad… passed away just last week," she murmured. "I had to tell someone. No one knew where we lived, so I owled the Ministry."

The boys murmured their condolences and Hermione nodded, silently congratulating herself when a single tear rolling down her cheek.

"That was how Dumbledore discovered me. He visited the cottage and told me that had he known of my existence he would have offered me a spot at Hogwarts back when I was eleven. He asked me to attend for my last two years. I'm still deciding."

"What's your other option?" Lupin asked.

Hermione shrugged.

"Living as a Muggle, I suppose. I'm fairly nervous about living among wizards, to be honest. I'm not sure how well I'll be accepted, especially nowadays with all the fuss about blood purity."

"Load of rubbish," Sirius snapped. "Anyone who believes in blood purity is a damn fool."

Hermione glanced up at him and smiled uncertainly.

"Do most people at Hogwarts share your opinion?" she asked.

Sirius faltered at this.

"Plenty do," James assured her. "And those who don't are the ones to steer clear from anyways."

"So just how much banshee do you have in you?" Peter asked.

"God, Pete, you're just made of tact aren't you?" Sirius scolded.

"It's all right," Hermione said kindly. "My screams won't kill you, if that's what you're asking."

Peter blushed.

"As far as I can tell, I'm your average witch. Having never met my mum, or any other banshee for that matter, I don't know how many banshee traits I inherited," she continued.

"You got your hair from your mum, I'd wager," James muttered.

Hermione's hands flew to her frizzy locks.

"What?" she asked self-consciously.

"Smooth, Prongs," Remus said.

"Well, it's sort of wild, innit? And banshees are known to be kind of… untamed," James added lamely.

"I don't know," Hermione said nervously.

"I like it," Sirius said with a smirk. "Matches our Moony's hair, dunnit? Moony's rather wild himself."

Lupin shot Sirius a warning look and smoothed down his tousled wiry hair.

Their curiosity moderately satisfied, the boys finally took to their food with impressive dedication. Any of them could have given Ron a run for his money. Hermione nibbled delicately on a slice of steak and kidney pie and took in her new companions.

She turned to the boy sitting next to her. As her professor, he had looked eternally weary, although his calm and paternal demeanor made him approachable. This boy was twenty years younger, but she could never mistake him for anyone else. He looked pale and almost frail, but certainly not as solemn as the Lupin she knew. Still, his ruffled (slightly wild) sandy hair and kind eyes remained the same. She smiled, feeling comforted by his presence in such an unfamiliar setting, even though he didn't know her yet.

Sirius Black, however, was another matter. She felt a bitter ache grow in her chest, and her throat grew tight with emotion. She hadn't seen Sirius in nearly a year. His death had come so very suddenly, and now, seeing him in the prime of his youth seemed obscene. It was almost cruel for her to have to see him young and happy, knowing the suffering that would befall him just over five years later.

At first glance, he looked nothing like the haunted, emaciated man that had escaped from Azkaban. Yet his eyes held the same mischievous boyishness that would sometimes escape the Sirius she once knew. His hair fell gracefully across his eyes as he bent his neck to share a whispered conversation with James. He was undeniably handsome, almost shockingly so. He was undoubtedly also the cruelest of the bunch, if her interactions with him thus far were any indication. Yet she knew that he was not a bad person. Anyone who could emerge from over a decade in Azkaban and maintain his good humor had to be basically good. If anything, he simply lacked maturity. Of course, he would be forced to mature much more quickly than any boy should. She couldn't help flashing forward in her mind: War. Best Friends Murdered. Wrongfully Accused. Azkaban. Escape. Hiding. Abrupt death.

Her eyes prickled with tears and she quickly blinked them away, pausing to take a sip of her pumpkin juice. Once she trusted herself not to start blubbering openly, she glanced briefly at Peter Pettigrew. She could hardly bear to look at him. He was smiling genially and patting James on the back—James, the man whom Peter would betray to his death. It made her positively ill to watch this traitor interact so warmly around the lifelong friends whom he would turn against.

Balling her hands into fists underneath the table, her eyes drifted to the final dinner guest. She allowed herself a moment to indulge in the awe she felt at his uncanny resemblance to his son. They could be mistaken for twins, except for James' eye color and absence a lighting-bolt shaped scar. How much would Harry have given to be in her shoes right now?

She studied James carefully (and discreetly) for a long while. The minutes ticked by and Hermione managed to engage in meaningless small talk whilst steadfastly attending to every detail of James's presence. She wanted to be able to tell Harry everything: the way he preferred his toast (burned around the edges with heaps of orange marmalade), the set of his shoulders (straight and strong), and how his laugh sounded (deep but melodic).

At the moment he was gulping down a bite of mashed potatoes. Mid-chew he caught her staring. The corners of his mouth quirked upwards in a sly smile, and Hermione nearly gasped. Harry made the same face at least once a day. Blushing, she spoke.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to stare it's just…"

"I'm so handsome," James finished for her.

"No!" Hermione exclaimed, her cheeks burning. "I mean, not that you're not. I mean…"

All of the boys were smirking at her now. It was too much like dinner with Harry and Ron when they would gang up and take the mickey out of her.

"It's just that I've never been around other magical people except for my own father. I'm just trying to take it all in," she finished, her cheeks still pink.

"You've never been around any other wizards? Ever?" Sirius demanded.

Hermione shook her head, and Sirius swooped down to Wormtail and spoke in a stage whisper.

"Wormtail, this is your chance!" he said. "For all she knows, _you_ are the paragon of beauty for Wizarding-kind!"

He turned back to Hermione.

"Granger, Peter here is quite the stud at Hogwarts. The pale skin, the round face, the round… everything else. He has to keep the girls away by stuffing Dungbombs in his pockets."

All of the Marauders chuckled, although Peter's ears had turned crimson.

"I _have_ been around boys, you know. I was raised in a Muggle village. There were boys present; just not wizards," Hermione said, smirking.

James gave Peter a consoling slap on the back.

"Ouch. Sorry Peter, the charade won't work if she's seen what else is out there," he said gravely.

"Get off me you tosser!" Wormtail groaned, shoving away James's hand.

"Oy, Droopy!" Sirius shouted.

The house-elf scurried into the kitchen and stood at attention like a soldier awaiting his orders.

"Need a warm-up on my pumpkin juice," Sirius said, carelessly gesturing toward his goblet.

In a pinch the tiny creature snapped into action, and then bowed deeply and left. Hermione tried to bite her tongue. She really did.

"You could at least say 'thank you,'" she scolded.

Sirius looked up at her from beneath his dark locks.

"Excuse me?" he asked with a laugh.

Hermione's mouth drew into a thin line before she responded.

"You have these house-elves at your beck and call. The least you could do is say 'thank you,'" she explained with obvious irritation.

All of the Marauders were smiling at Hermione as if she was an interesting potions experiment gone wrong.

"Serving wizards is reward enough for their lot, innit?" Sirius said incredulously. "Droopy loves being at my beck and call."

Hermione snorted.

"And that's a satisfactory reason to act like an entitled prat, I suppose?" she retorted.

Sirius scoffed and started to reply when James held up a hand indicating for him to stop.

"Listen, Granger," James began. "I know it might seem strange, because you probably didn't have any house-elves growing up, but they really do like it. It's in their nature," he assured her.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"All magical creatures deserve to be treated with respect. Elfish servitude is an antiquated system that all wizards should be ashamed of," she asserted.

"Ashamed of?" Peter sputtered. "Do you know what would happen if we freed all the house-elves of the world? They would find the nearest cliff and jump off it is what! They'd be miserable!"

"It's true, Granger," James added. "They literally live to serve."

"If that's the case, then they need to be reeducated. And wizards needn't take their labor for granted either. A simple 'thank you' would go a long way," she persisted.

"Hermione, I understand why rights for magical creatures is important to you," Lupin said gently.

Hermione frowned. He did?

"After all, you're half banshee. It's not as if banshees are treated particularly well by the magical community. You yourself have been discriminated against. I understand that," he continued.

Hermione fell silent, knowing that Lupin did, of course, understand. When the larger world discovered that he was a werewolf, he would encounter little else but discrimination.

"But Droopy really does love it here. You should see how his face lights up when we enter the kitchens," he finished.

Hermione decided not to push things any further. She had already said too much, let her passion for elfish equality overtake her common sense.

"I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree," she said stiltedly.

Sirius smirked, apparently feeling like he'd won this round. She fixed him with a piercing glare, but said nothing more on the subject. Just then she let out a long yawn. Her eyes found a clock on the opposing wall and she was shocked to note that she had been in the kitchens for well over an hour.

"I should be going. It's late," she said, dabbing her mouth with a napkin.

"Oh, don't go yet! We didn't even get to regale you with tales of Marauder mischief!" James insisted.

However, another yawn escaped Hermione's lips at that moment, and she shook her head.

"I'm afraid even a tale of cunning and adventure couldn't keep me awake at this point," she said, mid-yawn.

She got up, and the rest of the boys rose with her.

"Don't be silly," she protested. "Stay. Enjoy your feast."

"Come now, what kind of gentlemen would we be if we failed to escort a lady back to her quarters?" Sirius asked, his eyes laughing all on their own.

Hermione felt a surge of panic. If they knew where she was staying, they would most likely be inclined to visit her again before the end of term. She had enjoyed a lapse in judgment for this one evening, but she couldn't do it again. This time had been more out of intellectual curiosity than anything. She wanted to be able to tell Harry about his father; it was selfless (or so she told herself). But to see them again… she felt the hot twisting feeling of guilt churning in her stomach. How could she face them again, knowing the terrible events in their futures and not say a word? It would be too hard if she got to know them any better, and it would be irresponsible if not deadly to attempt to change the past.

"You would be gentlemen who respected a lady's wishes to see her own way back to her room," she replied smartly.

James and Remus chuckled. Hermione bid them adieu one more time and climbed out of the portrait hole and back into the dungeon corridor. She started up the main staircase, head spinning with self-recriminations. How could she be so careless? Trying out her new cover story was no excuse. Dumbledore would have her back home long before September the first. All she had to do was avoid these boys for a week and she would have been in the clear.

"Out past curfew?"

It was a cold, sneering voice, and Hermione froze mid-step. She spun around to confirm her suspicions.

"Snape!" she exclaimed.

The boy standing before her was nothing like the Snape she knew. Her professor was a tall, glowering, imposing man. Snape-the-elder's billowing robes and deep voice enhanced his intimidating demeanor. The boy before her was so thin that his robes hung from his body in a childlike way. His sallow skin accentuated his dark, stringy hair. His hooked nose looked comically large on his younger face.

"Do I know you?" Snape asked snidely.

"No. No you don't. Now if you don't mind, I'll just be on my way," she said calmly. Having learned her lesson, Hermione was going to make sure to avoid extended contact with someone she knew in the future.

If only Snape had seen things the same way.

"You were down by the lake earlier today," he said, recognition dawning on him.

His ghostly white cheeks colored for an instant as he realized that Hermione had witnessed his humiliation at the hands of the Marauders.

"I'm sorry I didn't do more to help," she replied.

Snape snapped. "You think I need your help? I don't need anyone's help."

Hermione frowned. So apparently although this Snape looked different, the attitude was the same: miserable, unpleasant, and petty.

"Oh? So what was your strategy then? Flash them your underpants? Well done. I can see now that you had everything under control," she retorted.

Somebody laughed. Both Snape and Hermione spun around to find the source, but no one could be seen. Suddenly Hermione's heart pounded. Had she really just spoken that way to a teacher?

"You speak that way to a prefect?" Snape demanded.

"I'm sorry," Hermione replied automatically.

"Not as sorry as you'll be when you lose fifty house points," he snarled.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, prof—Snape," she said, barely catching herself.

"And why is that?" the pale boy asked, glaring threateningly at her.

"I'm not in a house. I'm a guest of Albus Dumbledore, and I'm going back to my room now," she stated matter-of-factly.

There was a strange rush in being able to talk to Snape this way. She imagined it must be how Harry felt when he infamously retorted, 'There's no need to call me 'Sir,' Professor.' _My boys would be so proud_, Hermione thought, smirking to herself.

"That's a load of dragon dung!" Snape hissed. "The Headmaster would have informed the prefects if there was a guest in the castle. If you're not a student then you're an intruder. I'll have to detain you."

His dark eyes glittered menacingly. Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Snape had already raised his wand.

"_Incarcerous_!"

Hermione fell to the floor, bound by a dozen magical ropes.

"I'm telling the truth!" she gasped, trying to regain her breath after falling.

From her position on the ground, Hermione could not see what happened next, but she heard it. Snape yelped and hopped back three or four steps, cursing. Hermione smelled smoke, and guessed that the edges of his robes had been set alight.

"Bloody witch!" Snape shouted, apparently under the impression that Hermione had cast the curse.

She heard a whooshing sound followed by a loud CRACK, and a second later the ropes disappeared. Confused, Hermione scrambled to her feet. Snape was lying a dozen meters away, slumped on the ground. His wand lay a few feet further down the hall. As far as Hermione could tell, someone had cast a silent _Expelliarmus _on him and then performed a counter-curse on her. She looked around, but once again there was no one to see.

_Harry's invisibility cloak_, she thought. Although in this case it was still James's cloak. Silently thanking the Marauders, she ran back up the stairs to her room. Fulbert screamed upon being awoken, but Hermione muttered, "Dragon Pox," and slipped inside before he could get too far into his hysterics.

~o~o~o~

As a teacher, I will give a gold star to anyone who reviews! (When a person becomes a teacher, he or she is given secret directions to an underground cave in which said gold stars are kept safe from the rest of the world).


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: If you read this chapter within 3-4 hours after I first posted it, you'll notice a few small changes. Sirius has been toned down just a smidge, which I think is more believable and in character. Thanks to reviewer Phosphorescent for the thoughtful critique. And also thanks to my beta reader silver eyed vampwolf.

~o~o~o~

It was Thursday. Tomorrow marked the end of term. Dumbledore appeared briefly in the morning to tell her that they would leave for his summer cottage shortly after the Hogwarts Express left on Friday. Tippy brought her a new stack of books, but she couldn't muster her usual enthusiasm. There had been nothing useful about time travel in any of them. No witch or wizard had ever traveled as far through time as she, and the wizarding authorities on the matter considered any speculation about such large time jumps to be utter hogwash. She was only moderately interested in reading about banshees. All of the references said about the same thing: Deadly screams, children are yummy, rinse, repeat.

The only thing that she read with any real interest anymore was the Daily Prophet. Today there was a short paragraph in the gossip column about Mundungus Fletcher being banned from the Hogs Head for making a particularly crude joke about the bar's owner and a flock of sheep. However, in the previous days Hermione had read a great deal about the progression of Lord Voldemort and his followers. Attacks on Muggles were still rare but occurred with increasing frequency. Rumors of a growing army of Death Eaters abounded, with an equal number of people upholding such rumors as proof of the beginning of a Wizarding war and decrying them as misinformed fear mongering.

There was a knock, and Hermione heard Fulbert scratching at his frame, probably clawing his way up the painted walls. Dumbledore had been there not two hours earlier. If it was him, then something was wrong. If it wasn't him… she frowned.

Screwing up her courage, Hermione pulled the portrait door open to reveal an unexpected but familiar face.

"Hello, my dear. Horace Slughorn, at your service," he said, taking a deep bow.

Shocked, Hermione stood back, unintentionally allowing her potions professor into the room. He stepped through the portrait hole and took the doorknob from Hermione, gently closing the door behind him. Sweeping across the room as if it was his own, he took a seat at the small dining table.

"Well, don't just stand there, my dear witch! Do take a seat," he said cheerfully.

Numbly, Hermione did as she was told.

"Sir, I don't really know—"

"Who I am?" Slughorn interrupted, chuckling. "Of course, my mistake. I am the Potions Master at this fine institution. But it is with you that my interest lies, Miss Granger. The Headmaster was very guarded in his description of you. All he told the professors was that he had a guest staying on the sixth floor, and that she was considering attending Hogwarts in the fall."

Hermione attempted to speak again but was once more cut off.

"Well, naturally my curiosity was piqued. Who was this witch who was mysteriously absent from school for so many years and yet illustrious enough to be the personal guest of Albus Dumbledore? And then I spoke with Severus Snape this morning."

Hermione's eyes widened.

"I didn't mean to cause any trouble. I apologize if my—"

"Nonsense!" Slughorn interjected. "Snape told me that you managed silent, wandless magic whilst under the _Incarcerous_ curse! Said you had him off his feet and unconscious before he knew what was happening to him. What an extraordinary talent you have for one so young!"

Hermione frowned and stammered.

"Snape was bragging to you about my abilities?"

Slughorn threw his head back and let out a throaty laugh.

"Well, it wasn't so much bragging about your abilities as it was running to his Head of House with a list of grievances and a bruised ego, but I was able to read between the lines," he beamed.

"I must know where you went to school before Hogwarts!" he concluded. "Any witch with that kind of talent must have enjoyed a particularly entitled education with some very distinguished minds."

He was sizing her up for the Slug Club, Hermione realized. She smiled. Some things never changed.

"I was home schooled actually," she informed him.

Slughorn looked taken aback.

"Well, then surely you come from some noble stock to have received such a top-notch education without the benefit of a Ministry-recognized institution."

Hermione paused and regarded her professor with amusement. This she would enjoy.

"Didn't have much of a choice. I wasn't invited to Hogwarts when I turned eleven."

Slughorn's large face contracted into a wrinkled facade of confusion.

"Abroad, were you?" he ventured.

"Half-blood," she replied, smirking more deeply.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, looking relieved. "Bit of a mix-up, then, I'd say. You see, Hogwarts accepts half-bloods and Muggle-borns most readily. In fact, my most talented potions student is a Muggle-born. Brilliant witch!"

"I'm not half Muggle," Hermione interjected.

The smile disappeared from Slughorn's face.

"No?" he replied.

"No," Hermione confirmed. "Half-banshee."

Slughorn's furry eyebrows flew up so high that Hermione thought for a moment they might escape his forehead altogether.

"Well, that's—I've never even heard of—quite astonishing—er—Well!" he sputtered.

"Apparently it didn't affect my magical ability," Hermione said pointedly.

"Oh, quite right!" Slughorn replied. "Interesting. Very interesting indeed."

His eyes traveled over her body like she was a flobberworm ready for dissection.

"Well, I must be off now," he said suddenly. "Very important potions duties to perform. You understand."

"Of course, professor," she answered.

Slughorn quickly excused himself, and Hermione grinned, confident that the nosy professor would not hound her again any time soon.

~o~o~o~

That was not to be the last surprise visit that Hermione would receive that day, however. It was late, nearly an hour past midnight. Hermione was in bed, fast asleep when the portrait swung open suddenly, jarring her awake. She instinctively grabbed her wand from the bedside table. When, after a moment, no one entered she called out for the only person she could think might be visiting her.

"Headmaster?"

She was met with silence.

"Professor Slughorn?" she tried.

No response.

The portrait swung shut. Hermione froze, unsure of how to proceed. After a moment she climbed out of bed and padded over to the door. She slowly eased the door open and peeked out. Peer as she might, she could not see a single soul in the corridor. Fully exiting the room, she closed the door and addressed Fulbert, who was frowning.

"Fulbert, why did—"

"AH!" Fulbert shrieked. He dropped his wand and immediately dipped out of frame to retrieve it, only to drop it once more when he righted himself and was surprised by Hermione again.

Hermione pursed her lips and waited a moment for Fulbert to regain his wand and his composure before continuing.

"Why did you just swing open?" she asked.

Fulbert frowned again. "Because someone gave the password, of course."

Now it was Hermione's turn to frown.

"And then they decided not to come in?" she asked.

"I… I'm not sure," Fulbert replied nervously.

"Well, no one entered the room when you opened, so they must have left. Who was it?"

"I'm not sure," Fulbert repeated. He tugged anxiously at his robes.

"Well, what did they look like?" Hermione prodded.

"Not a clue," Fulbert answered, frowning so deeply that the creases in his forehead made dark shadows on his face. Hermione closed her eyes and tried to reign in her urge to hex him.

"How can you have no clue?" she asked through gritted teeth.

"Well, I couldn't see him," Fulbert explained.

"Why?" Hermione asked, and she immediately began running through possible explanations in her head.

"I thought maybe he was just too short for me to see over the edge of my frame," Fulbert offered.

"Who could be that short, Fulbert?" Hermione asked skeptically. "He'd have to be under half a meter."

"I worried that it was a garden gnome! They used to bite at my ankles when I wandered into the gardens. I never go outside now!" Fulbert exclaimed, shuddering at the mere memory.

"You're a portrait, Fulbert! Garden gnomes can't get you anymore!" Hermione shouted. "And what would a garden gnome be doing in Hogwarts anyway? It's far more likely that it was somebody who put a disillusionment charm on themselves, or wore an…" she paused and felt her stomach churn.

Fulbert was cowering in the corner of his frame, terrified of the tongue-lashing that he was receiving, but Hermione ignored him and whispered, "Dragon Pox." Fulbert scrambled to swing open, and Hermione stepped inside, her wand at the ready. When she entered her eyes slowly scanned the room. And then she saw it: a slight indentation on the edge of her mattress.

Without further hesitation, she strode over to the bed and grabbed at the space above the indentation. Her fingers met something silky and cold, and she yanked it towards herself. She clutched the cool, airy fabric and gazed at the recently revealed intruder. Sirius Black was perched on the edge of her bed, smoothing out his dark hair, which had been displaced when the Invisibility Cloak was removed. Hermione glowered at him, but he had the nerve to look entirely unconcerned at being caught.

"Hermione, luv! Fancy meeting you here," he said pleasantly.

"Sirius, how did you even find me?" she bit out, squeezing the cloak harder in her fist.

"Remus, rascally scamp that he is, followed you back here on the first day after you left Dumbledore's office," Sirius confided.

Then Hermione remembered something.

"I thought I saw a cloak out of the corner of my eye, but I assumed it was my imagination," she mumbled.

Sirius grinned.

"Well, Moony couldn't get close enough to hear the password for that nervous fellow out there, so I did a little extra reconnaissance after our midnight feast."

"It was _you_ who cursed Snape and freed me?" she gasped.

For some reason she had assumed it was James. Or Remus. Or the whole group together, but not just Sirius Black.

"Just call me your knight in shining armor," he said cheekily. "By the way, top notch insult to old Snivellus that night. Had us all laughing our arses off when I told the guys later."

Bouncing once on her bed as if testing the springs, he happily plopped himself back onto her pillows, stretching languidly.

"Excuse me!" Hermione shrilled. "I'll have you know I was sleeping before you barged in here uninvited."

Sirius looked up, an expression of faux-surprise on his face.

"Oh no! Terribly sorry about that, Granger. Well, crawl right on up here and nod off. You won't bother me," he offered, patting the bed invitingly.

Hermione gaped at him.

"You prat!" she shouted. "Take your stupid cloak and get out. You could get in a lot of trouble for being here."

Sirius sat up and beamed at her.

"Afraid of Snivellus discovering me? Haven't I proven that I can handle a Prefect roaming the halls?" he boasted.

"I'm not talking about Prefects and House Points. This is bad, very bad! You have to leave now!" she blustered, approaching the bed and shoving the cloak in his face.

"Now, now, just what are you worried about?" Sirius said patronizingly. "Unless…" He paused, raising his eyebrows. "Unless you really are a _special guest_ of the Headmaster. I'd certainly hate to step on Dumbledore's toes."

"No! Merlin, what is wrong with you?" Hermione snapped, her cheeks burning furiously.

"Oh, good," Sirius said.

He brushed the cloak aside and grasped her wrist, tugging hard. With a shriek, Hermione tumbled on top of the dark-haired boy, her wand falling carelessly beside the bed. She immediately started to scramble away, but he placed one large hand on the back of her knee and swung her leg over so that she was straddling his hips. His hands on the backs of her thighs held her fast. She brought her open hand down on his chest in a loud smack, but he merely grinned.

"Let me up. I mean it," she ordered.

"Relax, Granger. I won't tell Dumbledore. It'll be our little secret," he whispered.

She struck his chest again.

"You are repulsive!" she shouted.

"You don't seem very repelled by me," he said, smirking.

Her heart was racing. She had to get him out of here. If only she hadn't dropped her wand!

"You don't respect women, you treat house-elves like slaves, and you torture your fellow students for sport. Just which of those traits do you think I find attractive?" she spat.

Sirius's eyes narrowed.

"Torturing my fellow students? If you're talking about Snivellus, I think you'll recall that he's a bit of a git. A git who, by the way, I saved you from not two nights ago!" he growled.

Hermione swallowed hard, frantically trying to think of something that would get the boy to leave.

"Is that why you came here tonight? For a thank you?" she asked harshly. "Fine. Thank you for saving me from Snape, although once he had brought me to Dumbledore I would have been released anyway."

Sirius screwed up his face in disbelief.

"Oh, some thanks that is!" he snarled.

"Well, I'm sorry if I'm not inclined to politeness when I'm being manhandled!" she retorted, swatting at the hands that held her legs.

Sirius glared at her for a few seconds, not saying anything. Hermione focused on his Adam's apple, watching it bob up and down as he swallowed. Then he suddenly released her legs. Hermione scrambled quickly off the bed.

"Why are you here?" Hermione asked once she was a safe distance away.

Sirius glanced at her lazily from the bed.

"Always up for a bit of mischief," he said casually.

"Well, mischief managed, I'd say," she quipped, tugging her pajama top down where it had ridden up.

Sirius smirked.

"That has a nice ring to it," he commented.

Hermione's eyes widened. She was affecting the past; this was proof! Lupin had told Harry that the Marauders created their map early on in their sixth year, meaning it didn't exist yet. She had just given Sirius the incantation he would later use to close the map.

"You have to go," she urged him.

"I'm feeling rather tired all of a sudden," he said dramatically, yawning in an obviously fake way.

Hermione huffed. She edged close enough to the bed to retrieve the cloak.

"Then go back to your room and sleep," she coaxed.

"Mmmm, so comfy right here," he murmured, snuggling into her pillows.

Hermione rolled her eyes. She moved to the door and dangled the cloak from her fingertips enticingly.

"This is a pretty valuable cloak, wouldn't you say?" she remarked casually.

"Mmmph," Sirius grunted noncommittally.

Without any warning, Hermione threw open the portrait door and tossed the cloak out into the hallway. The door swung shut again, and she turned to face Sirius smugly. Except that the boy had apparently missed the whole thing, his face buried in her bedding.

"Sirius!" she shouted.

"Mmmph?" he groaned.

"Your cloak is in the corridor. Go retrieve it and leave," she ordered.

"I'll get it in the morning," he mumbled, kicking off his shoes.

"Anyone could walk by and take it," Hermione hissed.

Sirius rolled over and pushed himself up so that he was resting on his elbows.

"I'm sure it'll be fine. No one ever walks by Fulbert. He's obnoxious," he said lazily.

Hermione stomped her foot.

"Aren't you at all concerned about your possessions?" she said through her teeth.

"I'm _very_ concerned about being properly rested for the long trip back to James's house," he replied.

Hermione stared at him in complete disbelief. If that cloak were to get confiscated by Filch too soon, then it might never get passed on to Harry, which meant that their entire future would be different!

"That cloak is important, you know!" Hermione blurted out.

But Sirius had already pulled back the covers on her bed and slipped inside, blissfully indifferent to her inner turmoil. With a frustrated shriek, Hermione threw open the portrait door and stomped out into the corridor. However, as soon as she put her hand on the cloak, she heard the portrait swing shut over her head. Straightening up, Hermione whispered, "Dragon Pox."

When nothing happened, she looked more closely at the Portrait. Fulbert was gone.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Hermione grumbled.

The delicate wizard had wandered out of his frame, pouting after Hermione yelled at him. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, biting her fingernail in frustration. Finally, throwing up her hands, she caved and knocked on the portrait. There was a pause, and then she heard some faint footsteps, until finally the portrait swung open again to reveal a very disheveled Sirius Black.

"You're a strange girl, you know that?" he said, smiling drowsily.

"Thank you," Hermione said drolly, stepping into the room.

She brushed right past him and toward the bed. Stooping to pick up his shoes, she whirled back around and thrust both the shoes and the cloak at him.

"Congratulations, you have enjoyed a successful night of mischief. Now please go so that I can get some rest," she said resignedly.

Sirius took a deep breath and dramatically exhaled, considering her offer. Finally, smirking, he grabbed the shoes from her hand. Leaning back against the wall, he began to slip them on.

"As long as I've accomplished my goal, I guess there's no reason to stay," he said.

Then, straightening up he added in a low voice, "Moony would kill me anyway."

"What?"

Hermione frowned. Ignoring her, Sirius posed a question of his own.

"Hey, before I go I've got to ask—did you decide whether or not you're coming to Hogwarts next year?"

Hermione paused, and then shook her head.

"I… No, I haven't made a final decision. There's a lot to consider."

Sirius nodded in understanding. He spoke as he approached the door.

"Well, maybe this will help you decide."

Hermione followed him and waited to see what he would say. He turned around and took the cloak from her hands but held fast to her wrist when he did so. Confused, Hermione looked up only to see his face coming closer.

"Wha—mmmmff!"

His lips met hers. She was so shocked that she didn't move, didn't breathe, and, most importantly, didn't resist. She just stood there, allowing Sirius Black to kiss her. His lips were warm and moist. His free hand curled around her body so that his palm came to rest gently on her lower back. His thumb traced slow circles there while his lips moved softly against hers.

When she felt the tip of his tongue brush her lips, reality came flooding back with a jolt.

_This is Sirius Black!_ _Harry's godfather! A man who is literally DECADES older than you!_

She stumbled backwards. Their lips parted with a smacking soundand Hermione immediately brought her fingertips to her lips. She stared at Sirius, unable to form words.

He was smiling as he pulled open the door. As he stepped out he said one last thing before the portrait swung shut behind him.

"Mischief Managed!"

~o~o~o~

Hello dear reader. I don't know if you've heard, but very time you leave a review, a house-elf gets its freedom! Now, what would Hermione say if you didn't click that little button? *hem, hem*


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: To anyone who might be wondering whether this story is truly Hermione/Lupin based on the last chapter, this one is for you. Thank you to my beta!

~o~o~o~

Remus Lupin awoke to the sight of gleaming white teeth. It took him a moment to realize that the teeth belonged to one Sirius Black, who was for reasons yet unknown crouched inches from Remus's face.

"What are you grinning about?" Remus grumbled as he rubbed his eyes.

Sirius bounded a few steps backwards and leapt on top of Lupin's trunk.

"I always grin on the morning after a successful conquest!" he announced.

Remus was unimpressed. He begrudgingly sat up and pinned Sirius with an impatient look.

"Who was the unlucky girl?" he asked.

"What are we talking about?" James yawned, propping himself up on his elbows to look at his roommates. His messy hair stuck up in so many different directions that it looked as though he was wearing a black puffskein for a hat.

"Nothing of consequence," Lupin replied, rolling back over in bed. "'He does nothing but smile. For sure the man is tainted in his wits.'"

"Moony's just jealous. You know he only quotes that Muggle poet when he's cranky," Sirius said dismissively, glaring at the boy in question.

"Then what is it?" James prompted.

"I had a late night rendezvous with a particularly fascinating witch," Sirius stated proudly.

James rolled his eyes.

"Oh, so Lupin was right," he said.

"This was not your average feat of seduction, my friends," Sirius insisted, stepping down from the trunk.

"_I'm _interested, Padfoot," Peter offered, having awoken seconds earlier.

"Thank you, Wormtail! Finally, someone with some sense," he said approvingly. "Now, as I was saying, this was a particularly daring adventure. I risked life and limb."

"Because the furious witch will no doubt hex you into oblivion when you ignore her on the train back to London," Remus said knowingly, his face half-buried in his pillow.

"No, because she just might be Dumbledore's beloved," he replied mysteriously.

There was a pause.

"You put the moves on MCGONAGALL?" James sputtered, falling out of bed in his haste to stand.

Sirius gawked at his friend.

"Do you think I'd be standing here in one piece if that were the case, you dimwit?" he snapped.

James looked relieved as he dusted himself off and perched himself on the edge of his bed.

"Wait, do you mean the banshee?" Peter asked, in awe.

Remus sat up very quickly, his covers twisting violently as he moved.

"_Half_-banshee," Sirius corrected. His grin stretched wider as he took in the reaction of his friends.

"You don't think that Dumbledore is actually… _with _her?" Peter asked with some trepidation.

James snorted and threw his pillow at the boy.

"Of course not, Peter," Sirius replied. "In fact, when we were in her bed she outright denied it."

A stunned silence settled over the room. Peter smiled as if Sirius had just let him in on a wonderful secret. James looked as though he was trying not to seem impressed. Remus scowled.

"You're lying," Lupin accused.

Sirius chuckled.

"Merlin as my witness!" the boy exclaimed, holding one palm up to the sky.

"You do know it doesn't count if you use _Imperio_, correct?" James asked sardonically.

"Don't even joke about that," Remus muttered, shooting James a disappointed look.

"All right," Peter interjected, trying to prevent an argument. "Give us the details then! You might as well entertain us if you're going to brag."

Realizing that he finally had a captive audience, Sirius put on a sly smile and took his time returning to his bed. Seating himself cross-legged, he inhaled deeply.

As he exhaled, Sirius launched into a sensational retelling of the events of the previous night, complete with a short reenactment of the scuffle on the bed with Peter standing in for Hermione. Remus looked absolutely appalled during this role-play, although whether it was because of Sirius's bold actions or the sight of Peter and Sirius in bed together, no one could be sure. When he was finally finished speaking, the Marauders all looked slightly surprised.

"That's all?" Peter asked after a moment's pause.

"It was just one kiss?" James laughed. "Good show, Sirius! You got one step further with a girl than Snape ever has."

Sirius cast a Bat-Bogey Hex in James's direction, and James only just managed to dodge it before letting out another guffaw.

"Hey, the girl's half-beast! I didn't want to push my luck," Sirius protested.

Without a word, Remus pushed himself off his bed and grabbed his cloak from where it hung on his bedpost. He fastened it around himself and stomped out of the room.

"What's his problem?" Sirius asked the room at large.

"I'm assuming Moony probably didn't appreciate the 'half-beast' remark seeing as he turns into an _actual_ beast once a month," James explained.

Sirius scoffed.

"Well, he needs to grow a thicker skin. Or perhaps fur. I was only joking."

"You know Moony. He's sensitive. Or maybe he was just hungry," James said with a shrug. "He'll probably be cramming his breakfast into his face when we get to the Great Hall."

"Forget about Moony. What did Granger say?" Peter asked impatiently.

"What after the kiss?" Sirius replied. Peter nodded. "Nothing."

James laughed again.

"Nothing? Well, that's encouraging feedback," the bespectacled boy teased.

"She was in awe of my kissing abilities, I'm sure," Sirius said confidently.

"Or she was afraid that she would bring up her dinner if she tried to speak," Peter quipped.

James's eyes widened in surprise and he gave Peter an approving slap on the back. Sirius shook his head.

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, Peter," he said reproachfully.

"Well, what do you say, gents? Off to our last Hogwarts breakfast of the term?" James asked, casting a freshening charm on himself.

The other boys followed suit, getting dressed and checking to make sure that their bags were packed.

"I'm going to miss these feasts," Sirius said as they entered the Gryffindor common room. "No offense mate, but your mum is as good a cook as Binns is a teacher."

James punched Sirius in the arm, and Peter laughed. The three Marauders exited the common room and made their way down to the Great Hall. They thought it odd that Lupin was not waiting for them at their table, but the arrival of food pushed this thought from their minds and they quickly dug in.

~o~o~o~

'Muggles have only the most basic understanding of time. This is in large part a consequence of the very strange process by which Muggle scientists study the world around them. The famous Muggle physicist Isaac Newton created this process. To begin, physicists sit beneath apple trees waiting to be struck by fruit, which bestows upon them divine inspiration. At this point, they begin inventing scientific theory…'

_Well, this book is about as useful as a pile of dragon dung_, Hermione thought grumpily before slamming the book shut. She should have known to avoid a book called _Misguided Muggle "Science_,_"_ but she was desperate. After just one week, Tippy had brought her every available book on Wizarding time theory. That left only the scant few tomes in the Hogwarts library dedicated to Muggle thought on the subject.

Sighing, Hermione took another bite of her toast and pulled the next book closer to her. This one was titled simply _Muggle Theories on Time_. Hermione flipped open to a random page and began to read silently.

'Some Muggles posit that time travelers cannot change past events. The reasoning goes as follows: Changing the past would create a paradox between the past and the future. The newly altered past would lead to a new future in which the time traveler would not take the same actions. For example, if a time traveler went back in time to prevent the assassination of his country's leader and succeeded, then his new future self would never go back in time to prevent the assassination because it would never have happened.

'However, other Muggles argue that there are many alternate universes. These people believe that if a person were to go back in time and change past events, time would simply branch off into a new universe, leaving the old universe intact and avoiding a paradox…'

Hermione considered herself to be a very clever witch, but her mind was spinning with the effort to comprehend what she had just read. However, her mind was given a reprieve when a knock sounded at her door.

By this point in her stay, Hermione was getting quite tired of knocks at her door. Still, she abandoned both her toast and her book, and padded over to the portrait. She swung it open to reveal Remus Lupin, who looked slightly red-faced, as though he'd just popped out for a jog.

"Lupin?"

"Can I come in?" he requested.

Hermione shifted nervously. Merlin only knew what kissing Sirius did to the future. She really shouldn't invite another Marauder into her room.

"Shouldn't you be at breakfast? It sounded like a lot of students were going downstairs a few minutes ago," she mentioned in what she hoped was a casual manner.

"I'm not hungry. I can eat on the train," he said, moving past her without waiting for her permission.

His brusque behavior was so out of character that Hermione was too stunned to protest. The door swung shut behind him, and she snapped back into their conversation.

"You can eat _what_ on the train? Chocolate Frogs and Cockroach Clusters? That's not much of a breakfast," she said pointedly.

Remus shrugged.

"I like chocolate," he said.

"I know you do," she answered without thinking.

He tilted his head to the side and lifted an eyebrow at her.

"How did you know that?" he asked, curious.

"I—er—Well," Hermione stuttered, her mouth opening and closing twice without any cohesive thought coming out. "Didn't you have some chocolate the other night in the kitchens?"

Hermione held her breath.

"Oh, probably," Lupin nodded.

Letting out a small sigh of relief, Hermione noticed that Lupin was clenching his hands into fists. His knuckles were just visible under the cuffs of his sleeves.

"Is something wrong?"

She asked the question reflexively, the way you ask an acquaintance, 'How are you doing?' when you see them in passing. However, as soon as the words left her lips, Hermione realized that Lupin did indeed look troubled. His lips were set in a tense line. His eyes looked more drained than usual. There were deep creases beneath his lower lids. The skin beneath those creases was a bluish-grey that, when contrasted with his pale skin gave him a sickly look.

Hermione immediately tried to calculate the current phase of the moon. The full moon must be near for Lupin to look so awful.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out.

Hermione frowned.

"What for?" she asked, bewildered.

Lupin ran a hand through his shaggy hair and emitted a frustrated sighed.

"Sirius," he replied.

Hermione was confused. What did Sirius have to do with the full moon?

"What about Sirius?" she asked.

Lupin froze, looking as bewildered as she felt. Her lack of understanding seemed to cause him intense discomfort. He stuttered his way through his reply, never quite meeting her eyes.

"Oh. I just thought… Never mind. I thought that you—he said—I assumed… I guess if you didn't mind—"

His meaning finally became clear to Hermione, and she gasped.

_The kiss_. _Of course!_

"Oh! Oh, that!" she said in an unusually high voice. "Yes! I _did_ mind that!"

The corners of Lupin's mouth twitch and formed the slightest of smiles. He exhaled.

"I certainly hope he didn't scare you away from the thought of attending Hogwarts," he said.

"No, but I'm still just as undecided as before," she replied, shrugging apologetically. "There's just a lot to consider."

Lupin smiled in earnest now. It was a gentle smile, and it immediately put Hermione more at ease.

"I know how it feels to worry that people won't see who you truly are because of something beyond your control," he said sincerely.

Hermione felt her heart sink. No one so young should have to go through the pain and injustice of a life like his. Lupin moved closer and she could not look away from his weary eyes.

"Please know that you will always have a friend in me if you choose to join us next year," he added.

Hermione felt like an imposter. Of course she knew what discrimination felt like; she was Muggle-born. However it could not compare to what Lupin went through. Having non-human blood was an entirely different story. Naturally Lupin felt a pull toward a girl whom he thought shared his struggle. Intentionally or not, she was taking advantage of him.

"Thank you," she managed to whisper.

She ducked her head to hide her guilty face. She couldn't bear to look at him. This poor boy. This boy who was attacked at such a young age, who expected nothing but hatred from strangers because of a condition beyond his control, who was, for the first time in his life, truly content because he had friends. This boy who Hermione knew would see an abrupt end to his happiness when his world unraveled only a few years in the future.

"And thence from Athens turn away your eyes, to seek new friends and stranger companies."

Hermione's eyes darted up to meet his.

_He's quoting Shakespeare to me. He could not possibly be a nicer or more caring person. _

"I think Shakespeare had it right. Take a chance here. You don't get much stranger company than Sirius and James anyways," he added, smirking.

Rather than the smile that Lupin expected to receive, he was met with the saddest eyes he had ever seen. Hermione could no longer hold back. Several fat tears escaped her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.

Shocked, Lupin did nothing but stand stock still, trying to reassure himself that he had done nothing wrong, but feeling guilty just the same.

"I'm sorry!" Hermione sniffled, trying to wipe her tears with the heels of her palms.

_How can I stand here and not warn him? What would Harry say if he knew I had the chance to change things and I did nothing?_

She did not notice when Lupin moved even closer still, but suddenly her cheek found his shoulder. She let herself sag against him, using his robe to dry her tears. When she felt confident that the tears had stopped, she tentatively lifted her head and looked up at him. It would be so easy to warn him, to reveal everything. She literally held the lives of his friends in her hands. She knew that it would be dangerous, irresponsible, and possible catastrophic to change the past, but it was it not also weak and cowardly to stand by and do nothing?

"I can't do this. I'm not strong enough," she said in a small voice.

She knew that he didn't understand her. He took her statement to mean something entirely different. The words had just bubbled over in desperation.

"Sometimes we don't know how strong we are until we challenge ourselves to do something that truly terrifies us," he replied softly.

Hermione was unsettled by his words. What truly terrified her? Was it fear of destroying the fabric of time or fear of failing her friends?

Their faces were still so close that Hermione could see his every scar. She knew that he'd given those scars to himself during his monthly transformations. Without giving a thought as to her actions, she raised a shaky hand to his face. She barely registered his sharp intake of breath when her fingers grazed his cheek. She began gently tracing his scars, imagining that she was erasing them with her fingertips. The pads of her fingers skimmed up to his cheekbone and then slowly down to his jaw. She swept gently across his chin, pausing on a dimple before making it to the other cheek.

All the while he watched her, holding his breath.

There were so many scars. They were thin and very faint, not the vicious raised stripes that would show in twenty years, but she wished them away just the same. She wished away all of his pain. But she did not have to wish. She had the power to _do it_, take it all away.

'_So many scars_,' Hermione thought. '_Both inside and out_.'

"I'm sorry," she said for the second time that night, pulling her hand away.

Lupin exhaled softly.

"Please don't be," he said.

He took a step back.

"I should go," he stated.

Hermione nodded numbly. Neither of them said another word as he made his way on wobbly legs back out the portrait hole.

~o~o~o~

Hermione watched from her window as students poured out of the castle and climbed into the carriages to Hogsmeade Station. She tried to identify the Marauders, but it was difficult when all she could see was the tops of everybody's heads. Guilt weighted her down as she took her cloak and her wand (the only possessions she'd had with her when she arrived at Hogwarts) and went to meet Dumbledore in front of his office. She barely spared him a glance as they walked across Hogwarts grounds toward the main gate. If he noticed her solemn state, he did not mention it. They were mere steps from the gate when Hermione spoke.

"I should have said something."

It was a belated sentiment, and one that she didn't mean to voice aloud, but it snuck past her lips before she stop it.

Albus Dumbledore peered at Hermione from beneath a wide-brimmed sun hat. It was the type of hat that a Muggle might wear on a beach vacation along with a fanny pack and a Hawaiian shirt, Hermione thought. Thankfully, Dumbledore wore subtler Muggle clothes to finish off his ensemble, namely some plain brown trousers held up by suspenders and a short sleeved button-down shirt. Still, it was unsettling to see the Headmaster wearing something other than his usually flashy wizards' robes.

"What was that, Miss Granger?" he asked.

Hermione bit her lip, debating with herself about how to reply.

"There are students at your school who have… terrible futures," she said quietly. "I could have changed those futures, but instead I said nothing."

Dumbledore stopped walking and motioned for Hermione to do the same. She turned toward him, but did not meet his eyes. She knew that he was going to give her some sage advice about not meddling in time. She'd already heard this speech back in her third year and was not eager for an encore. When Dumbledore placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, however, Hermione felt obligated to look up. Dumbledore gazed down at her with a look that he usually reserved for Harry. His kind eyes were tinged with something more—perhaps it was pity, or perhaps regret.

"It is heavy responsibility that you bear, Miss Granger. You now live in a world in which you watch events unfold as if from the pages of a book to which you already know the ending. And yet you are powerless to rewrite a single word."

Hermione felt the weight of his words, but could not accept them.

"_Am I_ powerless?" she challenged.

"That, perhaps, is a question best directed toward our expert," Dumbledore evaded.

He straightened up and continued walking. Hermione followed him through the castle gates and across the magical boundaries that prevented Apparition. Then, offering his arm he said, "Shall we?"

Bracing herself for the horrible sensation of side-along Apparition, Hermione reluctantly took Dumbledore's arm. There was a loud CRACK, and suddenly Hermione found herself in the middle of a short street lined with quaint shops.

"I Apparated to the village centre instead of directly to the cottage. I love to start my vacation with a good stroll through town so that I can say my 'hellos.' I hope you don't mind," Dumbledore said, pausing to straighten his suspenders and hat.

Hermione surveyed the street. There was a bakery, a laundromat, a tiny grocery store, a few small restaurants, and various other shops that Hermione could not discern from her current vantage point. Sensing that Hermione was not going to reply, Dumbledore pointed out the direction of the cottage and the pair began to walk.

"That there is my dear friend Mitsy's bake shop. She makes the most delectable toffee biscuits!" Dumbledore beamed.

As if on cue, a woman wearing a bright green apron hurried out of the shop in question. She looked to be around middle-aged. Her café au lait hair was gracefully swept up into a loose bun at the base of her neck. She was tall and willowy and had a kind face stamped with freckles.

"Albus!" the woman cried.

She approached Dumbledore with her arms wide open and immediately pulled the elder wizard into a friendly embrace. Hermione smiled in spite of her mood.

"It's been too long," she chided when she released him.

"I was home for Christmas, Mitsy," he gently reminded her.

"Pish, posh! Too long!" she maintained. "And who is this?" she asked, giving Hermione a quick once-over.

"Mitsy, it is my pleasure to introduce to Hermione Granger, the daughter of a dear friend who is recently deceased. She will be staying at the cottage for the summer."

Mitsy immediately fell over herself expressing her condolences. She clutched Hermione's hands tightly between her own and looked directly into the girl's eyes as she did so, and Hermione felt herself instantly warm towards this stranger.

"Well, we must be on our way. There is a visitor waiting for us at the cottage," Dumbledore excused them.

Mitsy released Hermione's hands and sent them off but not before giving them a bag of cream puffs for their trip. The pair was intercepted by no fewer than two-dozen other townspeople as they walked. Each and every one of them was delighted to see the tall wizard and meet his companion. Dumbledore effortlessly engaged them in small talk, recalling the names of their children, grandchildren, and third cousins with ease as he inquired as to their health and happiness.

The scenery changed dramatically when they finally made it out of the town centre. The greenest farmland Hermione had ever seen stretched before them as far as she could make out. Hermione was one bite into her third cream puff when Dumbledore addressed her.

"Congratulations. You have been officially introduced to more than one tenth of the town of Fetterie," Dumbledore said as they made their way past a herd of grazing cows.

Hermione did some quick math.

"There are less than 250 people in the whole town?" Hermione asked.

"It's much closer to 200, I'd guess. Ah, here we are!" Dumbledore announced.

It was a small white stone cottage. The front garden was similarly tiny and enclosed by an attractive wrought iron gate. They followed the pebbled walkway around patches of tulips, pansies, and begonias to a dark burgundy door.

Dumbledore murmured "_Alohomora_" and they were inside.

One step in the door and Hermione could tell that this was Dumbledore's home. The cream-colored stone walls and dark wood beams on the ceiling framed a cozy sitting room. An ornate oriental rug and plush furniture, each piece with a different fabric and pattern, filled the space. There was a fireplace flanked by packed floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Dumbledore muttered another spell, and the fireplace crackled to life. Hermione felt instantly at home.

"Come, I'll show you your room," Dumbledore said.

She followed him upstairs.

"This is my room on the left," he noted. "And yours is to the right."

It was small. Cheerful blue walls sloped up to a point in the center of the ceiling. A single window overlooked the neighbor's fields. A large bed covered in white fluffy linens took up almost the entire room. To the left was a small table with a reading lamp. To the right, a short dresser and vanity. That was it.

"What do you think?" Dumbledore asked.

"It's perfect," Hermione said earnestly.

"Well then, shall we go back to the sitting room? Our guest should be arriving shortly."

"Albus?" a voice called from downstairs. "Albus, are you there?"

"Coming, Agnes!" Dumbledore said cheerily, motioning for Hermione to go first.

As she descended the stairs, Hermione saw a stern face projecting from the green flames in Dumbledore's fireplace.

"Finally! I've been sticking my head into the fireplace every five minutes for the last hour!" the face barked.

"I'm terribly sorry for the delay, Agnes. Please do come in," Dumbledore replied.

Huffing indignantly, the witch in the fireplace nevertheless acquiesced. Her face disappeared for a second, and the suddenly her entire body appeared in a bright green flash. The woman was short and stout with sharp cheekbones and a severe black bob. She put one high-heeled boot in front of the other and dusted off her robes without acknowledging her the room's other inhabitants.

"Please sit," Dumbledore requested. "Would you like a spot of tea?"

"None for me," the disgruntled witch replied. "I can only stay for a few minutes. I've left in the middle of a very important project."

"Of course," Dumbledore bowed his head in a show of gratitude and waited for both of his guests to take their seats.

"Hermione, this is Agnes Coupe, an Unspeakable and the reigning Wizarding authority on time travel," Dumbledore declared. Ms. Coupe gave a curt nod. "Agnes, this is Hermione Granger."

"Charmed," the older witch replied dryly. "Now, Dumbledore has already explained your little mishap to me and sent me the remnants of the so-called 'Apparition-Aide' that you left outside the castle."

Hermione frowned. This witch made it sound as if Hermione had fallen down and scraped her knee, not been accidentally transported two decades backwards in time. Ms. Coupe went on brusquely.

"I have little doubt that I can recreate this device, but testing it properly could take some time, especially since I will have to divide my efforts between this and one of the dozen projects with which the Ministry has tasked me."

"Understandable," Dumbledore conceded graciously.

"I shall update Albus on my progress periodically and as soon as I am confident in the device's reliability, you will know it."

Nodding to herself, the austere witch stood and walked back to the fireplace. It wasn't until she took a handful of Floo Powder that Hermione realized that the woman meant to leave.

"Wait!" Hermione cried.

Ms. Coupe turned around, frowning.

"What am I supposed to do in the meantime?" the younger witch asked.

Ms. Coupe rolled her eyes.

"I don't know, dear. I suppose that all depends on what sparks your fancy," she said patronizingly.

Disturbed by the witch's lack of concern, Hermione glanced desperately at Dumbledore. She gave him a pleading look.

"I believe what Miss Granger means to ask is how she should act so as not to alter the future," Dumbledore patiently explained.

Coupe stared at Dumbledore with an expression that clearly communicated that she thought a flobberworm could ask a more thoughtful question.

"Well, obviously it is impossible not to affect the future. You're affecting it ask we speak by delaying my progress on a very important Ministry project," she said slowly.

Stunned, Hermione sputtered, "Why aren't you more concerned? I could create a horrible future. I could destroy the fabric of time!"

"Rather self-obsessed, isn't she?" Coupe asked Dumbledore matter-of-factly, as if Hermione was not sitting three feet away.

"I beg your pardon!" Hermione balked.

"And you have it," the witch quipped. "What I meant, Miss Granger, is that whatever you _have done_ or _will do_ in this time has already affected the future that you know."

"Are you saying that everything that I do here will lead to the exact same future?" Hermione clarified.

Ms. Coupe sighed with irritation, but dropped her handful of Floo Powder back into a jar on the mantle and resigned herself to staying a few moments longer.

"You make it sound as if the events of the past already happened once without you and now you have been neatly inserted into the past only to have the same pattern unfold. That is ludicrous, of course. You were always a part of the past, Miss Granger. You just never knew it until now."

Hermione paused to consider what she had just heard. There was never a past in which Hermione did not meet the Marauders. It was always this way. She was an integral part of the past, meant to be here.

Hermione nearly gasped as she realized the implications of this information. This meant that she was one of the reasons that Peter Pettigrew was allowed to betray his friends, that Harry's parents died, that Sirius was sent to prison... She wouldn't just allow this horrible future to unfold; she would be complicit in its creation.

"That can't be," Hermione said shakily. "If I know what's going to happen, I can warn people. I can change things. I can create an entirely new world!"

Hermione's breathing had turned fast and shallow. She felt her heart knocking against her ribs, and thought for one horrifying instant that she might actually faint. Ms. Coupe, on the other hand, was unmoved.

"First you were upset that you might create some hellish alternate universe and now you're upset that you can't. You are quite hard to please," she observed snappishly.

"No, you have to listen to me! No witch or wizard has ever gone as far back in time as me. You can't know what will happen. No one can!" Hermione insisted urgently.

Coupe looked as if she might hex Hermione at any moment for daring to question her expertise. Perhaps sensing this, Dumbledore interjected.

"Agnes, you have given us a great deal to consider. Miss Granger and I both wholly appreciate you taking time away from your important work, and I am sure that you have already spent more time with us than your busy schedule will allow," he placated.

Eyeing Dumbledore skeptically, Agnes nevertheless nodded.

"Albus, this child is impossible to converse with," Coupe said. "I don't know how you plan on keeping her for the summer."

Hermione was about to protest that she wasn't a house pet to be 'kept,' but Dumbledore was quick to respond.

"The young lady is only inquisitive, a trait that is extremely advantageous in any young person," he said, throwing Hermione a reassuring wink.

"I find inquisitive children most trying," Ms. Coupe replied, unconvinced.

"I suppose that is why you did not come to teach at Hogwarts," Dumbledore chuckled.

Agnes Coupe shuddered in pure horror at the mere thought of such an agonizing existence.

"Quite right, Albus," she agreed, reaching once more for the Floo Powder.

"Ministry of Magic!" she bellowed. Green flames sprung to life, and Hermione was not the least bit sorry to see the gruff witch step into them and disappear.

"Well, that was rather enlightening. How about a cup of tea?" Dumbledore asked pleasantly.

~o~o~o~

One week earlier (or twenty years later)…

"She's not back yet," Ron growled.

George's mouth tightened into a thin line.

"Keen observation, little brother," he said, gritting his teeth.

Ron's nostrils flared.

"Don't you dare get smart with me, you idiot! You're the one that lost her!" he accused.

George took a few threatening steps towards his brother when Harry broke in.

"Okay, let's calm down. All she has to do is Apparate back. Fred did it," Harry said reasonably.

Ron whirled on Harry.

"Fred also said the Apparition-Aide exploded!" his friend exclaimed.

Harry's shoulders slumped.

"Oh. Right," he murmured.

"It didn't explode until after I got back!" Fred protested.

"It's been fifteen minutes," Harry calculated. "How long after you popped into the Quidditch World Cup Stadium did it explode?"

A sickening silence stretched on and on after Harry asked his question. Fred's eyes nervously darted towards his brother, who looked equally unsettled.

"What's going to happen to her?" Ron asked, for the first time his voice held more genuine fear than rage.

Fred opened his mouth, but seemed at a loss. George swallowed hard.

"I suppose that all depends on what Harry was viewing in the Portable Pensieve," the latter twin said.

Three expectant faces turned towards Harry simultaneously. Harry slowly realized the depth of Hermione's trouble as he recalled the memory that he'd been viewing. For a long while after that moment, he was only capable of repeating two words.

"Oh shit."

~o~o~o~

End notes:

Remus quoted Shakespeare's _Twelfth Night_ (Act III, scene iv) to Sirius. In the play, a man named Malvolio is under the mistaken impression that a woman named Olivia wrote him a love note. The note told him to loosen up and be more joyful, and he dutifully complied. The quote is from a character called Maria, who is warning Olivia that Malvolio is running around smiling like a big weirdo and to steer clear of him because he's clearly gone insane. Here's the full quote:

_No. madam, he does nothing but smile: your_

_ ladyship were best to have some guard about you, if_

_ he come; for, sure, the man is tainted in's wits._

And Remus quoted Hermia from _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ (Act I, scene i) to Hermione. Hermia is telling her beloved Lysander that they'll leave their home in Athens and seek an exciting new life together as a married couple. Here's the exact quote:

_There my Lysander and myself shall meet_

_And thence from Athens turn away our eyes,_

_To seek new friends and stranger companies._

Anyways, do you know why you should review this time? Because I'm officially back to school, and that means wrangling a classroom full of fifteen-year-olds. Yes, the same age as the Marauders, only I can't cast a simple silencing spell on them. Trust me, I've tried.

So how's about a pity review?


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry it's taken me so long to update. Don't worry though! I was hard at work. I've got an outline for the entire fic now. Progress! Also, this chapter focuses on Hermione's summer with Dumbledore, but I promise you all plenty of Marauder interaction next chapter (Also Lily, Snape, and even a little Lucius Malfoy…)

~o~o~o~

"Oh shit."

"Harry, will you stop saying that!" Ron snapped.

It was the first sentence spoken by any of the three Weasleys since they had heard the scene that Harry described to them. The redheads were still trying to wrap their brains around the ramifications of Harry's memory selection.

"Hermione saw Snape's underpants. That is truly a fate that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy," George Weasley said, staring open-mouthed at the Portable Pensieve.

"That's not the important part of the story, George! Hermione is currently chatting up Harry's parents in the 1970s!" Fred exclaimed.

Harry looked slightly taken aback by this idea.

"Do you really think she's talking to them?" he asked.

A very small smile settled onto Harry's face. Ron watched his friend with dismay. He knew why the idea of Hermione making contact with his parents would thrill Harry, but it irked Ron all the same. How could Harry be happy in this _catastrophe_? All Ron could think about was how much danger Hermione was in.

"Harry, this is really bad. How is Hermione going to get back to us?" Ron asked desperately.

Snapping out of his reverie, Harry glanced at Ron. Although he had said 'back to us' Harry knew that Ron had been thinking 'back to _me_.' The only time he had seen his friend look this distraught was when Nagini attacked Mr. Weasley at the Department of Mysteries. He was at a loss for what to say that might offer some comfort.

"I'll kill you if something happens to her," Ron said, turning on his brothers before Harry could voice a reply.

"Fratricide is not very becoming, little brother," George replied warningly.

"Oh, I beg to differ. I think that your face bashed in would be _very_ becoming," Ron said darkly.

"Stop it. This isn't helping," Fred interjected. Frustrated, he sighed and ran a hand through his bright hair.

"What if she changes the past?" Ron continued, instantly switching back from angry to terrified.

Harry frowned as he thought of the implications of this idea. Hermione could change the past. She could save his parents' lives.

"What if she _does_?" he challenged.

Fred frowned.

"Is this a trick question?" the twin asked.

"My parents died! Sirius wound up in Azkaban! Could things possibly turn out any worse than they already were?" Harry demanded.

"YES!" Ron shouted incredulously. "Harry, if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named never tried to kill you, then you never defeated him. Meaning that he never goes into hiding for ten years, meaning that the war continues to wage on, _meaning_ that maybe his side wins!"

Ron said all of this in a very rushed, urgent way so that when he was finally finished he had to gasp for air and his face had turned a light shade of maroon. Harry knew that Ron had a point, but did not want to accept it.

"How do we know that there wasn't some other way to defeat him back then, maybe for good?" he demanded.

"If Hermione did do something to change the past, wouldn't we know it already? Wouldn't her actions already have affected us?" Fred mused aloud.

Ron and Harry frowned with the effort of considering this query.

"Look, all this speculation isn't helping," George cut in. "We need to talk to somebody who might know what to do."

All four wizards knew who that person was, and his name escaped their lips simultaneously.

"Dumbledore."

~o~o~o~

Hermione's tea sat cold and untouched in front of her. It was obvious that she was upset, but Dumbledore said nothing. The Headmaster sipped his tea and softly hummed a tune that Hermione did not recognize. Hermione guessed that the elder wizard was waiting for her to say something first, giving her time to process everything that she had heard. A few minutes later Dumbledore finished his tea and rinsed his cup out in the sink.

"Would you like your tea warmed up?" he asked. "It appears to have gone cold."

Hermione looked at him, but could not form a reply. Her mind was working on so many different thoughts at once that she could not possibly voice any one of them. Perhaps seeing this, Dumbledore spoke again.

"Your decision has been made for you. Does that not come as a bit of a relief?"

Hermione opened her mouth and then closed it again as she considered the question. It was true—she no longer had to choose between trying to fix the past and trying to maintain it. Did that feel liberating?

"No," she said at last.

Dumbledore tilted his head, indicating for her to continue.

"Now I know that I'm responsible, at least partly, for all of the misfortune that's going to befall my friends," she said numbly.

Now that she had spoken the words aloud, the weight of her situation hit her all at once. Tears prickled in the corners of her eyes and she did not try to fight them. Her cheeks grew wet as the tears cascaded one after another from her eyes.

Dumbledore let her cry. When she cried in front of Harry or Ron, the boys always panicked and attempted to stop the deluge of tears as quickly as possible, but Dumbledore was patient and calm. He pulled his chair closer to her and waited.

Although he had always been a caring authority figure, she would never have described Dumbledore as paternal. He was friendly, of course, but he was also distant. Something about the way he remained so utterly calm and composed regardless of the situation made him inaccessible. He was a living icon, a man as good as Voldemort was evil, and that goodness naturally pushed him up onto a pedestal apart from the crowd of lesser wizards.

However now, sitting next to Hermione in his kitchen while she cried, Hermione could finally see Dumbledore as a normal man. Without an ounce of discomfort, Hermione leaned forward until her forehead rested on his shoulder. He moved his hand to her back, and gently stroked her hair. It was painfully reminiscent of the way her own father used to comfort her years ago when she came home from Muggle school in tears because her classmates were cruel to her again.

They must have stayed that way for less than five minutes, but to Hermione it felt like hours. When she was physically and emotionally drained and was sure that she could no produce tears, she sniffled and pulled away. Dumbledore gently tucked a handkerchief into hand and she gratefully took it and patted the tear tracks on her cheeks. Her head was pounding and her eyes were so puffy that she could scarcely keep them open. Still, she managed to tilt her head up towards Dumbledore and utter a faint, "Thank you."

"You are welcome," came his soft reply.

"Not just for the handkerchief," she clarified, her voice scratchy and muffled by the scrap of cloth. "Thank you for not trying to fix things. Thank you for just letting me feel."

Dumbledore smiled kindly.

"All too often adults assume that if they spout a few words of wisdom, they can make a young person's problems disappear. They presume that the problems of children are childish problems," he explained.

He pointed his wand at Hermione's teacup and uttered a Warming Charm that reheated its contents instantly before continuing.

"Your situation is one that the oldest and wisest wizard would find overwhelming. Therefore I would not dream of patronizing you by telling you that everything will be all right. Your life here will not be easy; there is no denying that. However, I can offer you two things that have always helped me during times of great personal turmoil, the first of which is a willingness to listen."

Hermione glanced curiously at him from over the top of her teacup.

"And the second?" she asked before taking a small sip

"Mitsy's baking," he replied.

Hermione managed a very slight smile and took another sip of her tea. She could do this. Obviously she _did_ do this, because none of the remaining Marauders, Snape, or Dumbledore recognized her in the future. This thought was not exactly comforting, but it did bolster her resolve to make it through however many weeks it took before she was back with Harry and Ron.

Hermione did not feel up to venturing back into town, so Dumbledore went out alone. While he was gone, she had time to think. She was terrified of changing the past. She was terrified of _not_ changing the past. She was terrified that Ron and Harry would forget to feed Crookshanks. She was generally terrified. However, she also knew that just sitting around indulging in her fear would not accomplish anything if her experience with Fulbert's portrait was any indication. Instead, Hermione spent the hour that Dumbledore was gone considering different courses of action. She was, after all, Hermione Granger, the brains behind the Golden Trio, and if there was anything that she was good at, it was thinking things through.

By the time Dumbledore returned with a basket full of delectable looking delicacies from Mitsy's, Hermione felt that she had at least come up with a suitable arrangement for the summer. She would visit the Muggle library as often as possible to seek non-magical information on the nature of time and space. She would seek some loophole, anything that would allow her to alter the past without destroying the future. Reasonably satisfied for the time being, Hermione happily greeted Dumbledore upon his reentry into the cottage and accepted his invitation to join him in the sitting room for dessert.

Now, two hours later, curled up in front of the fire with an Empire biscuit in one hand and thick tome titled _Fifteenth Century Fiends_ in the other, Hermione felt infinitely better than she had just a few hours before. Dumbledore was occupied with a stack of Jaffa Cakes and an old copy of _Charm Your Own Cheese_. The pair had been reading in companionable silence since Dumbledore's return, and in that time Hermione had somehow managed to sink so deeply into the cushions of her seat that she looked more like a settee with arms than a human being. It was wonderful.

Hearing the sound of rustling fabric, Hermione looked up to see Dumbledore rising from the armchair across the room.

"I fear I must retire for the night," he said, absently brushing a few crumbs from his beard. "Please feel free to stay by the fire for as long as you please."

It wasn't until Dumbledore spoke that Hermione realized how exhausted she felt.

"Actually, I'm quite tired as well," she replied, attempting to right herself. It actually took a good deal of effort, but she managed. Returning the book to its rightful place next to _Flesh-Eating Trees of the World_, Hermione followed Dumbledore upstairs. They parted ways with a murmured, 'Goodnight,' and Hermione fell asleep seconds after slipping beneath the feathery comforter atop her bed.

~o~o~o~

"What are your plans for today?" Dumbledore asked in between bites of his favorite cereal, which was (Hermione had giggled upon learning) called 'Magic Puffs.' Each box contained Muggle magic trick, which Dumbledore delighted in attempting to perform for Hermione, usually with limited success.

"Library, as usual. Then I thought I might visit Guillaume and see if he needs any help. And you?" Hermione replied, shifting the Letters Page of _The Daily Prophet_ so that she could look at him when she replied.

She always took the Letters Page, and he the International News section. On Wednesdays Dumbledore always skimmed the weekly zoological feature first, and on Sundays they worked on the _Fiendishly Difficult Crossword _together.

Dumbledore smiled.

"My presence is once again required at the Wizengamot. There is a terribly interesting case involving a winged catapult today."

Hermione nodded approvingly. His role as Chief Warlock necessitated the occasional visit to the Ministry of Magic. Although it only in particularly nasty or interesting cases that the Wizengamot saw a trial, various bits of business necessitated that Dumbledore travel to London at least twice a week. He usually invited Hermione along, but she had little interest in the goings on at the Ministry, preferring instead to devote her energy to her research on time travel.

As soon as Dumbledore flooed to the Ministry, Hermione grabbed her notebook and a pen and headed off down the long country road to Lawrencekirk. There was a public library only a few blocks away in Fetterie, but it was small and little used, not to mention the fact that it was only open three days each week. Although the walk to Lawrencekirk took just under an hour and a half each way, Hermione considered almost daily the trek worth it. The place simply felt more like a proper library. It was originally a small stone cathedral that had been converted into a library years ago. The castle-like interior reminded her of Hogwarts, and the friendly staff, thankfully, did not. Madame Pince always seemed more concerned about protecting her books from the prying eyes of children rather than actually using them for research.

"Found something interesting at the Banchory branch, Hermione," a sweet voice chirped as the witch pushed through the door of the church-turned-library.

Hermione said hello to Gladys Higgins, the thirty-something head librarian of the Lawrencekirk Public Library, before asking what was so interesting.

Gladys slid a paperback book across the counter.

"The Theory and Practice of Time Travel," Hermione read aloud.

"The author's a science fiction writer. Most of the book contains short science fiction stories, but there are a few essays that I thought might be useful to you."

Hermione thanked the librarian sincerely.

"Just remember that I want a mention in your credits section," Gladys beamed.

Hermione grinned and took the book with her to her usual corner of the library. Gladys and the rest of the staff were under the impression that Hermione was a budding fantasy writer looking for inspiration for her first novel. They had retrieved relevant textbooks, novels, and journal articles from every library in Scotland for Hermione, but none of the texts yielded the exact information that she was looking for.

At first the idea of alternate universes seemed terribly exciting. If alternate universes were possible, it meant that everything that Hermione did in the past _was_, in fact, creating a completely new future, an alternate universe. The future from whence she came was still there, proceeding as usual, but the past she currently inhabited was headed on an entirely new and unknown trajectory.

However, upon further consideration, Hermione realized that this arrangement was undesirable. When Agnes Coupe finally _did_ succeed in recreating the Apparition-Aide, Hermione would be Apparating back to a memory of her own present; she would never see the new alternate future she helped create. She could, of course, refuse to use the Apparition-Aide and stay in her current time for twenty more years to see how things turned out, but that seemed like an awful lot of trouble.

No, the theory of alternate universes did her no good. Besides, most Muggle scientists, including Albert Einstein, agreed that there was no scientific reason to believe that alternate universes existed at all. It seemed that changing the past was a theoretical impossibility. What Hermione needed, she realized, was a way in which she could change her present without truly altering the past.

Plopping down onto a threadbare armchair, Hermione began to read her new book, hoping that this time would be different. She was immediately disheartened to find that this author, like so many others, discounted the possibility of altering the past. However, while flipping discontentedly through the rest of the book, Hermione's saw something that caught her eye.

"_A time traveler could, theoretically, change the past, but only if the change produced no inconsistencies. This means that the change must not conflict with any events from that moment in the past up through the time traveler's actual present day._

"_For example, if a man went back through time to April 14, 1912 on the deck of the R.M.S. Titanic and warned the ship's captain of icebergs, thereby averting the ship's tragic sinking, it would obviously create a great number of inconsistencies._

"_However, imagine that a man went back through time to April 14, 1912 onto the floating remnants of the recently sunken R.M.S. Titanic. Imagine that this man brought with him a realistic looking fake corpse. Imagine that he grabbed hold of a woman who was seconds away from freezing to death, and popped back to the future with the woman, leaving the fake corpse in her place. Chances are that no inconsistencies would be produced._

"_The woman was moments from death, so she was going to have no further affect on history, and no one has yet catalogued all of the survivor's remains, so the fake corpse would not be discovered. For all intents and purposes, the woman _was_ dead, wiped clean off the face of the Earth for over half a century. Then she would suddenly reappear in the future (the time traveler's present). Now the pair could affect the future without having disturbed the past."_

Hermione's mind whirred into a frenzy of activity, trying to imagine a way that she could use this newfound information. After about two hours of brainstorming and fifty pages of notebook paper, the best plan she could produce was still woefully unsatisfactory:

She could stay in the Marauder's time for five years and hide herself under an Invisibility Cloak on the night that Voldemort came to kill Harry, bringing with her something transfigured to look like the dead body of Lily Potter. Then, at the very moment that Voldemort launched the Killing Curse at Lily, Hermione could (still hiding beneath the Invisibility Cloak) Disapparate with Lily and leave the fake corpse behind. She would reappear at Fred and George's with Lily in the future.

There were, of course, somewhere in the vicinity of a thousand obvious problems with this plan. How would she convince Agnes Coupe and Dumbledore to let her stay for five years? Would Voldemort sense her presence, even if she hid beneath an Invisibility Cloak? If she saved Lily, would the Killing Curse hit Harry? Should she save James instead? Wouldn't Voldemort realize the corpse left behind was fake? What would happen when either James or Lily arrived in Fred and George's shop at age twenty-one only to see their now-sixteen-year-old son?

In short, it just wasn't going to work. Hermione shut the book with a deep sigh. Yet another day had gone by and there was still no hope. Soon she was just going to have to resign herself to the idea that it really was impossible for her to do a single thing to change time for the better.

"I saw you writing furiously, Hermione. You done with that novel yet?" Gladys asked from a nearby bookshelf.

"Oh, very soon I expect," Hermione lied. "This book gave me loads of ideas."

"Are you ready to move on to some leisure reading, then?" the woman asked, gesturing toward the 820s aisle of the Literature Section of the library.

Hermione considered accepting. It was usual for her to wander into Literature and pull the overly large anthology of Shakespeare's works after a day of heady research. She had reread all of his tragedies, as that suited her mood earlier in the summer, and had moved on to comedies. Today, however, she felt that her eyes needed a rest, especially after such a disappointing research result.

"I think I'm going to head back," she yawned.

Saying her goodbyes, Hermione headed down the road to Fetterie. When she was not at the library Hermione was usually at _Two Lips_, a small flower shop with owned by a French transplant named Guillaume Framboisier. Hermione had wandered through the shop on a lazy afternoon at the start of summer, and before long she and Guillaume were deep in discussion about the nitrogen fixation ability of clover. The Frenchman was so impressed by Hermione's maturity and intelligence that he would call her into the shop to continue their conversations whenever he noticed her passing by. By the third week of summer, Hermione was spending much of her free time in the gardens behind Guillaume's shop, helping the Frenchman prune, pick, and plant.

"Guillaume? C'est moi!" Hermione announced. The familiar sound of jingling chimes met her ears as she pushed through the glass door to the flower shop.

A neatly coiffed head of graying hair popped up from behind an arrangement of belladonnas.

"Ma petite chou!" Guillaume exclaimed, rushing over with a single belladonna in his hand. As he approached, he tucked the flower behind her ear so that it was displayed in her hair. Hermione smiled.

"I'll never understand why the French think that 'my little cabbage' is a term of endearment, but I'll take it," she said wryly.

"Venez avec moi, ma chère," he said with great flourish, striding out to the gardens. Hermione obeyed, tagging close behind.

"Ce satané lapin a encore mangé mon trèfle!" he grumbled distractedly as the gardens came into view.

"Oh, Guillaume! What did I tell you about planting so much clover!" Hermione gasped as she saw what Guillaume was talking about.

"I'm going to catch zaht damn rabbeet and make a delicious civet out of 'eem," Guillaume spat.

Before them lay a field of ruined clover. A rabbit had been plaguing Guillaume for weeks now.

"He's just doing what nature intended," Hermione said reasonably. "Besides, I told you rabbits are mad for clover. At least he's laying off the flowers."

"Ah!" Guillaume grunted, patently ignoring Hermione's smirk. "But zaht ees not eemportahnt. Come, you are going to 'elp me plant zee gardenias."

"Certainment!" Hermione replied, mock-saluting the Frenchman. He laughed, and pulled her along to the section of the garden in which they were to work today.

There was something about the feeling of dirt between her fingers that Hermione found immensely satisfying. It was a nice change of pace after long hours cooped up in the library, and Hermione found Muggle gardening to be infinitely more enjoyable than the wizarding variety, primarily because most Muggle plants did not pose a mortal threat to her.

She and Guillaume had been working for a good while when a pair of blue sandals appeared inches from Hermione's fingers. Looking up, she was surprised to see Dumbledore standing over her.

"Albus!" Guillaume exclaimed, climbing to his feet and dusting off his knees.

"Bonjour, Guillaume. I'm afraid I need to steal Hermione away. We have some company at the cottage, you see," Dumbledore said casually.

Hermione tried to catch his eye, but he was looking straight at Guillaume. Hermione knew that they were not expecting any guests. There had to be some development with Coupe. Or a disaster at the Ministry.

"But of course," Guillaume replied, gesturing for Hermione to join Dumbledore. "À toute à l'heure."

Hermione took Dumbledore's arm and they started back to the cottage.

"Agnes has paid us a visit," Dumbledore explained. "There had been some developments in her efforts."

Intrigued, Hermione looked expectantly at Dumbledore. When it became clear that he was not going to expand on his statement, she began to walk a little faster, eager to hear what Coupe had come to say.

She hadn't taken two steps in the door when Agnes Coupe's steely voice called out from the sitting room.

"You told me you were running out get us some tea," the severe woman said accusatorily to Dumbledore.

Paying no heed to her tone, Dumbledore calmly gestured for Hermione to take a seat in the living room before responding.

"You must have misheard me, Agnes. I specifically remember telling you that I was going to get Hermione."

Agnes fixed him with a reproachful glower.

"And I specifically remember telling _you_ that I did not wish for the girl to be present during our meeting," she replied.

Hermione bristled, but was not surprised by the older witch's sentiment. Coupe had sent Dumbledore owls about her progress no less than twice each week, and Dumbledore always let her read them after he was done. They normally ended with something like, '_And another thing—don't let the girl read these letters. She'll only become beset with delusions of grandeur once more.'_

"You told me that you had some very good news. Of course I assumed that it was only logical for Hermione to be present to hear such news. It is, after all, her future at stake," Dumbledore pointed out, lowering himself serenely into the overstuffed armchair nearest to the fire.

Coupe eyed Hermione with a look of thorough disgust before muttering, "As long as she doesn't interrupt."

Dumbledore smiled and with the flick of his wand, brought a tea tray zooming into the room. Another flick and the tea began to pour itself and three teacups found their appropriate guest, milk and sugar fixed perfectly to each guest's liking.

After a stiff sip of tea, Agnes placed her cup on a saucer and continued.

"I came here in person because I believe that I am only weeks away from success. It took nearly two months just to create a prototype of the Apparition-Aide, but now I have several prototypes that appear to be in close to working order. Now it is just a matter of testing each one."

"Agnes, we are in your debt. This is superb work, although I should expect nothing less of you. You were the brightest student in your year at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling merrily.

Coupe nodded in acknowledgment of the compliment, but did not seem particularly moved by Dumbledore's words. Hermione got the distinct feeling that she had come to except such praise as a general formality.

"At first testing seemed like it would be a problem. After all, I certainly could not use the device myself, for if it were to malfunction there would be no one to take my place with one-tenth of my expertise in this area. In fact, using any wizard to test a new prototype was out of the question, according to Article Three, Section twenty-seven of the Ministry's _Rules and Regulations for Proper Experimental Conduct_. Muggles are out too, thanks to Article Three, Section eighty-one," Coupe said in a frustrated tone.

Hermione frowned, horrified that Coupe seemed genuinely disappointed that she could not test magical devices on unsuspecting Muggles.

"Alas, most magical creatures wouldn't do because they are incapable of Apparition or using a Pensieve. However, the house-elves have proven most useful. We've only been able to use the device for short-distance travel thus far. Any longer than twelve hours, and we lose them. Lost three house-elves yesterday alone," Coupe said.

"Excuse me?" Hermione sputtered.

"What?" Coupe asked impatiently. "It's not as if the Ministry is going to run out of house-elves. Don't worry, there are hundreds at our disposal."

Hermione felt positively ill.

"You think that I'm upset because there might not be enough house-elves to abuse? I'm upset because you are treating them like Muggle scientists use lab rats!"

"I thought of using rats, you silly fool, but since when have you known a rat to Apparate?" Coupe snapped.

Hermione managed to put her teacup down before she threw up her hands in frustration.

"You consider the life of a house-elf so worthless that you can't even comprehend why I am objecting! I wasn't suggesting that you use rats! I am appalled to learn that you are sending innocent magical creatures on suicide missions as carelessly as if you were swatting flies! I will not have you using house-elves for this mission!"

Coupe reeled back as if Hermione had jinxed her.

"Albus, do you hear this girl? She's giving me orders as if she were the Minister of Magic!" Coupe shouted, scandalized by the manner in which she was being spoken to.

"All magical creatures deserve to be treated with respect, not used for the gain of wizarding kind," Hermione snarled.

"Listen here, little girl," Coupe started bitingly. "This is the way that research is done. If you can't stomach it, then don't pursue a career in the Department of Mysteries."

"Now I know why they call you Unspeakables. The things that you do in the name of discovery are truly—"

"Enough!" Coupe screeched. "I will not be spoken to this way by a child! Albus, I am two seconds from hexing this girl so hard that she will be propelled back to the future!"

Both witches stopped shouting and turned their heated gazes on the elder wizard.

Albus glanced thoughtfully at the two witches before him. He paused to take another sip of his tea.

"Agnes, might I have a word with you in private?" he said finally.

Coupe turned to stare daggers at Hermione before rising abruptly from her seat. She followed Dumbledore into the kitchens. Where Dumbledore's footsteps were soft and relaxed, hers were harsh and clipped. A second later Hermione found herself alone in the sitting room but for the presence of Fawkes, who was perched grandly in his cage by the fire.

Still fuming, Hermione approached the beautiful bird and reached a few fingers through the bars to stroke his feathers simply so that she had something to keep her mind off the mistreatment of house-elves. Fawkes cooed appreciatively, making Hermione relax a small degree. Her relaxation was short-lived.

"Bloody house-elves, Albus!" she heard Coupe scream from the next room. Then, "Don't have time to coddle a child!" and finally, "Bloody well see if I have time, but I'm not making any promises, damn it!"

Hermione heard a loud POP and assumed that Coupe had Disapparated from the kitchen. Her suspicions were confirmed when only Dumbledore returned from the kitchen.

"Hermione, I can't say I approve of the way you treated our guest just now," he said.

Hermione's eyes widened, and she was instantly ready to come back with a half-dozen reasons why she had spoken rudely to the Unspeakable, but Dumbledore continued speaking before she could say a word.

"But I do understand your passion and find you defense of house-elves to be admirable. I only wish that you could have shared your fervor reasonably rather than descending to a verbal assault," he finished.

Hermione's cheeks burned with shame. She felt very small all of a sudden.

"I'm sorry sir," she replied in a wavering voice. "I just couldn't bare the thought of innocent creatures dying because of me. And she was so callous about it!"

Dumbledore held up a hand, and Hermione fell silent.

"Nevertheless, I have spoken to Agnes and she has agreed to cease her experiments. I have requested that she find an alternate solution, but as you can imagine, she is not keen on the idea. I believe you can anticipate spending a great many additional weeks in the 1970s."

Hermione sulked. There was no other word for it. She slumped back into the couch and refused to meet Dumbledore's eyes. She heard him continue to address her anyway.

"You will need to come with me to the Ministry tomorrow," he said.

Hermione looked up.

"Why?"

"It is already the end of August. You will not be home before the start of Hogwarts's new term. As such, you will be attending as a student. However, there is no record of you in this time. I have a friend at the Ministry who can create a false record of your existence, but you will need to come with me for the proper documents to be completed," Dumbledore explained.

Hermione nodded numbly.

She was going back to Hogwarts.

~o~o~o~

End Notes:

French translation:

"Guillaume? C'est moi!" = "Guillaume? It's me!"

"Venez avec moi, ma chère." = "Come with me, my dear."

"Ce satané lapin a encore mangé mon trèfle!" = "That damn rabbit ate my clover again!"

civet = stew

"Certainment!" = "Of course!"

"À toute à l'heure." = "See you later!"

And yes, "Ma petite chou" really does mean "my little cabbage" and is a term of endearment. De toute façon, mes petites choux, transmettez-moi vos critiques, s'il vous plait!*

*Translation: In any case, my little cabbages, please leave me your reviews!


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Sorry again for the delay in posting. Also, I know this chapter seems short, but that's only because I had originally written this massive 8,000 word chapter and then decided to split it in half. The good news is that chapter nine will be up within the week.

Also, a huge thanks needs to go out to my betas, Alison (who never lets me misplace a comma and always boosts my confidence as a writer), silver eyed vampwolf (who catches any and all grammatical errors), and the fabulous ReliableNarcotic, (who is absolutely full of great ideas).

~o~o~o~

Last Chapter…

"You will need to come with me to the Ministry tomorrow," he said.

Hermione looked up.

"Why?"

"It is already the end of August. You will not be home before the start of Hogwarts's new term. As such, you will be attending as a student. However, there is no record of you in this time. I have a friend at the Ministry who can create a false record of your existence, but you will need to come with me for the proper documents to be completed," Dumbledore explained.

Hermione nodded numbly.

She was going back to Hogwarts.

~o~o~o~

"MINISTRY OF MAGIC," Hermione shouted. She felt green flames lick her ankles as she stepped into the fire.

As Hermione stepped out into the Ministry's Atrium, a thousand sights and sounds assaulted her senses. After spending the summer in a quiet town of two hundred, it was a bit overwhelming. Her eyes darted back and forth, following the swishing robes of a hundred witches and wizards bustling across the dark wood floors. To give her eyes a rest, she tilted her face up and gazed at the peacock blue ceiling, following its gentle slope down the far end of the Atrium to the Fountain of Magical Brethren. Her eyes locked on the statue of a house-elf and narrowed when she took in the golden creature's submissive posture and adoring gaze.

"Shall we?"

Hermione slowly spun around to see Dumbledore, who had just emerged from the hearth behind her, offering his arm and a gentle smile. She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and let him steer her toward the security desk. They often walked this way through the streets of Fetterie. To an outsider it would look like Hermione was helping support the elderly wizard, but in reality it was Hermione who felt comforted moving through this strange world with Dumbledore as her anchor.

It took only seconds for the guard to create Hermione's silver visitor's badge, which read, "Hermione Granger: Job Shadow." She smirked and peeked up at Dumbledore, who studiously ignored her. Taking his arm once more, Hermione followed Dumbledore to the lifts.

"Job Shadow?" she said once they were enclosed in the elevator.

"Did you not express an interest in becoming Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot just last week?" Dumbledore asked, feigning confusion.

"Yes, of course," Hermione responded, grinning. "Must have slipped my mind."

The Atrium occupied Level Eight of Ministry Headquarters. Dumbledore pushed the button for Level Two, where Hermione knew Auror Headquarters was located. The elevator was empty when they got on, but stopped on every level, collecting more passengers as it went. On Level Five, a young man entered and Hermione distinctly felt the muscles in Dumbledore's arm tighten. The young man was eyeing the Headmaster with a cool, superior gaze, and she gasped when she recognized the expression. It was unmistakable. The tall, elegant posture, the pointed aristocratic features, hair that was so blond it was nearly white: this was a young Lucius Malfoy.

"Lucius, how are you?" Dumbledore asked pleasantly.

"Very well, thank you," Malfoy replied.

However, Malfoy was no longer looking at Dumbledore when he spoke. His eyes were trained on Hermione, and she did not like the look of them. They swept over her, pausing on her visitor's badge, before meeting her own eyes once more.

"I see you've brought your new charge with you," he drawled. "How charming; letting the poor creature out in civilized society."

Hermione felt Dumbledore's arm tense again, and her own skin seemed to crawl under the blond wizard's gaze.

"I see you've spoken to Horace," Dumbledore observed evenly.

"Yes, Slughorn mentioned your _guest_," Malfoy said, emphasizing the last word in a mocking tone.

"Then perhaps he also mentioned her extraordinary talent and intelligence. I know he was quite impressed by her magical abilities when he met her. She will make an excellent addition to the student body," Dumbledore added calmly.

Lucius's eyes narrowed.

"Surely you don't mean she will actually be attending Hogwarts?" he balked.

"I assure you that is exactly what I mean. Now, please excuse us, Lucius; this is our stop," Dumbledore said, gesturing at the lift doors.

Tugging Hermione gently, the pair brushed past an infuriated Malfoy and out into Level Two. Dumbledore did not say anything to Hermione about the hostile exchange as he navigated them through the Auror cubicles. Hermione was just about to ask him if Malfoy was yet on the Board of Governors for Hogwarts, but before she could, they reached their destination.

"Gideon, I would like to introduce to you Miss Hermione Granger," Dumbledore said by way of greeting.

Hermione quickly realized that this must be Gideon Prewett, brother of Molly Weasley. His fiery mane of red hair and abundance of freckles was proof enough of that.

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Granger. Name's Gideon Prewett," the wizard supplied, confirming her suspicions. He gave Hermione a gleaming white smile, which she politely returned.

"Everything you need is in this," he continued, handing Dumbledore a large green envelope that Hermione knew must contain her falsified records.

"Splendid," Dumbledore replied.

At that moment, somebody screamed. Hermione whipped her head to the left and right, trying to find the source of the sound. Her eyes landed on an extremely tall wizard who appeared to be stripping off his robes with frantic efficiency, yelping all the while. Bewildered, she turned to Dumbledore for an explanation. To her surprise, he was chuckling softly. In fact, it seemed as though such behavior was an everyday occurrence in Auror Headquarters, because when Hermione continued to look around, she noticed that no one but herself appeared to be the least bit concerned.

When the hollering man finally managed to free himself of his robes, the room broke out into applause, and, for reasons Hermione could not yet discern, Gideon Prewett took a regal bow.

"You're a dead man, Prewett!" the recently disrobed wizard sputtered.

The wizard in question grinned.

"Lovely boxer shorts, Sedgwick. I had no idea you were such a big fan of Puddlemere United," Gideon remarked.

He gestured at the blue and yellow crests embroidered on the wizard called Sedgwick's underwear. Sedgwick flashed Prewett a very obscene hand gesture, which only made the redhead's grin grow. Sedgwick stormed off, robes in hand, to a new round of applause.

"New curse?" Dumbledore asked casually.

"Just developed it. Makes the victim's robes grow stinging nettles," Gideon said proudly.

"Quite clever," Dumbledore commended.

"Just imagine a whole army of Death Eaters squealing as they run around in their knickers," Prewett chortled.

Hermione couldn't help herself. She snorted with laughter, then quickly clapped a hand over her mouth in embarrassment.

"Enjoyed that, did you?" Prewett asked, arching one eyebrow.

"More than I should have," Hermione confessed.

She smiled at Prewett. It occurred to her now that Molly Weasley must have named Fred and George after her brothers, and if Gideon's recent display was any indication, George was certainly living up to his namesake.

"Well, thank you very much for the documents, Gideon," Dumbledore said.

Then, just before they walked away from the Auror's cubicle, Dumbledore turned and spoke again.

"Oh, and Gideon, poker has been moved to Monday at four o'clock."

Hermione frowned. This was the first that she had heard anything about a poker game. Dumbledore always made it a point to give Hermione notice of his comings and goings. She felt a little embarrassed by how much it irked her that he had a social engagement that he had failed to mention to her.

Scolding herself for taking something so small so personally, Hermione kept silent as Dumbledore escorted her back out to the corridor. However, just before they reached the lifts, another familiar Auror stopped them.

"Dumbledore, a minute?" came a growl.

Hermione knew the owner of the voice before she turned her head. It was Mad-Eye Moody. Unkempt brown hair framed his horribly scarred face. The chunk of nose was already missing, but she saw that he still had two normal legs, and she assumed that he must have lost his leg in a later battle. His magical eye, however, was present and zipping around in its socket.

"Certainly, Alastor," Dumbledore assured him.

"Just wanted to make sure you heard that the poker game was moved to four," he said in a low voice.

"Yes, I got the message this morning from Benjy. How is the new eye working out for you?"

Dumbledore gestured at the electric blue sphere, which was staring at Hermione while its owner answered Dumbledore.

"It's right useful, actually, just as you suspected. The fellows have taken to calling me 'Mad-Eye,'" he said with a gruesome grin.

"Wonderful," Dumbledore commented with a sincere smile.

As they entered the lift, Dumbledore informed Hermione that he had a quick bit of business to attend to on Level Ten, and he would join her shortly. He parted ways with her in the Atrium and continued upwards. Left to her own devices, Hermione returned her badge and then took a slow walk around the Atrium, nodding politely at the wizards who passed her by. She eventually took a seat on the edge of the Fountain of Magical Brethren and lightly skimmed her fingers back and forth across the top of the water.

Then, very suddenly, something occurred to her. Why on earth would anyone want to play poker with Mad-Eye? He could see through the cards! Her mind began whirring.

There was no poker game.

But why would Dumbledore hide the true purpose of a meeting from her?

The answer came to her just as quickly as the question:

The Order of the Phoenix.

Dumbledore must have already formed the group and begun meetings with Moody, the Prewetts, Benjy Fenwick, and whoever else was of age at this point.

"So the rumor that water makes creatures like you burn is false, I see," came a cold voice above her.

Hermione cringed and looked up to see Lucius Malfoy standing over her. She said nothing, and he took this as license to continue.

"Dumbledore is a foolish old man with a soft heart," he stated matter-of-factly. Hermione frowned and opened her mouth to defend her guardian, but Lucius cut her off with the wave of his hand.

"He might have tricked himself into believing that you are a real witch, but don't allow yourself to fall under the same delusion," he sneered.

Hermione stood, which still brought her face only up to Malfoy's shoulder, but she felt more authoritative just the same.

"I'm not sure how much you could have excelled at Hogwarts, considering the fact that the idea that water burns banshees was discredited two hundred and sixteen years ago. It is well-documented in all basic zoological texts," Hermione replied.

Lucius bristled, but his voice stayed dangerously calm as he bent to address her again, his eyes coming level with hers.

"I see that a lifetime apart from wizards has prevented you from learning how to interact with your betters. This is a lesson that you would do best to learn soon. Otherwise, I'm afraid you are not long for this world."

Hermione ignored the urge to look away from his threatening gaze, tilting her chin up defiantly when she spoke.

"Do all Death Eaters flaunt their bigotry so openly, or are you an exception to the norm?" she said boldly.

She nearly flinched when she saw Malfoy's reaction. His nostrils flared, his eyes burned with barely contained rage, and he flushed a bright tomato red.

"That is an outrageous accusation, and one that I will not tolerate from a filthy half-breed. There is no evidence whatsoever that I am a follower of The Dark Lord," he seethed, his voice quiet but full of menace.

"No evidence, but for the fact that you just reverently referred to him as 'The Dark Lord,'" Hermione retorted, trying to hide her shaking hands under the cuffs of her sleeves.

In a flash, Hermione found a wand pressed beneath her chin. Her eyes widened and she went to pull back, but Lucius Malfoy's hand encircled her wrist and held her fast. Hermione felt her heart bouncing against her ribs and heard nothing but blood rushing to her ears. She faintly heard a voice behind her, but her nerves were so heightened that it took her a moment to realize who had spoken.

"Lucius, _lower your wand_," Dumbledore said.

It was a biting command. Hermione had never heard Dumbledore speak in such a tone. She whipped around to face him, and Lucius released her wrist at the same moment, causing her to stumble backwards. Dumbledore grasped her elbow and steadied her before turning back to the blond wizard.

"I trust that I will never see you lay your hands on a student in such a manner again," Dumbledore said, peering glacially at Lucius from above his half-moon lenses.

Lucius did not have the good grace to look the least bit cowed at being caught threatening Hermione.

"As far as I am concerned, the half-breed is not a student," he hissed viciously.

Without another word to either of them, Malfoy spun on his heel and strode over to the nearest gilded fireplace. Grabbing a handful of Floo Powder, the pure-blood wizard announced, "MALFOY MANOR!" and disappeared into the green flames.

Hermione was thankful for Dumbledore's firm grip on her elbow, because her legs still shook from the nasty exchange. She felt him direct her toward a different fireplace, and place her hand in a basket of Floo Powder. Finally snapping back to the present, Hermione took a handful of the powder and flooed to the cottage, Dumbledore appearing right behind her.

"I am sorry that you had to experience that," Dumbledore said, dusting off his robes. "I should not have left you alone. I never thought that anyone would attempt to harm you in the middle of Ministry Headquarters."

"I don't think he was actually going to do anything. Besides, you can't protect me all the time," she said reassuringly.

Dumbledore fixed Hermione with a wistful look that she could not fully understand.

"I can try," he replied.

Hermione smiled curiously at him, trying to discern his mood. However, before she could think too much about Dumbledore's words, she remembered what she had meant to tell Dumbledore upon their return to the cottage.

"I know there's no poker game," she blurted out.

Dumbledore paused, frowning from behind his spectacles.

"Excuse me?" he prompted.

"I also know about the Order of the Phoenix," Hermione continued, unfazed by Dumbledore's response.

Dumbledore smiled.

"Would you believe me if I told you it was a game of Exploding Snap?" he asked.

Hermione mirrored his smile.

"No," she said. "Back in my time, I spent my summers at Order headquarters. My friends and I would have been members, but for the fact that we're still in school," she explained.

Dumbledore considered this statement with a lengthy pause, and for a few moments the room was silent.

"Did I say something wrong?" Hermione asked, confused by his silence.

Dumbledore shook his head.

"No, of course not."

At her curious look, he continued.

"It saddens me to discover that there is still a need for the Order's existence two decades in the future," he admitted.

Hermione was dumbstruck, and the only response that she could muster for a few minutes was complete silence. She had somehow forgotten that _this_ Dumbledore did not know that Voldemort was still terrorizing the masses twenty years from now.

_Horcruxes_.

The word boomed suddenly and deafeningly in her head.

Mere days before her sudden voyage through time Dumbledore (or "Future Dumbledore," as she'd taken to thinking of him) told Harry, Ron, and herself about Voldemort's creation of Horcruxes. It was the key to the dark wizard's mortality. She felt stupid for never thinking of sharing this information earlier, and stupid was not an emotion that Hermione was familiar with.

"Sir, I have some information for the Order. Something very important that I think you should know," she said, her voice shaking with anxiety and sudden excitement.

"Hermione, did you notice that I have not asked you a single question about the time from whence you came since you arrived at the cottage?" he asked.

Hermione was thrown by the abrupt subject change.

"Yes, and I appreciate that you didn't want to upset me by making me think about that. But this is something that you _must_ know," she asserted.

Dumbledore looked at her with drawn-together eyebrows and downturned lips. He looked almost regretful, and Hermione could not understand why that could be when she was about to give him information that she was positive would change history for the better.

"What I am hinting at, Miss Granger, is that it would be unwise for you to tell me anything about the future," he said brusquely.

Hermione was taken aback by Dumbledore's curt tone and sudden use of her last name. All summer he referred to her only as 'Hermione' unless he was speaking of her to others.

"Sir, I don't think you understand. This is _the most important_ thing that you can possibly know about Voldemort. We just discovered it in my time. If you would just let me tell you—"

"No."

It was a command. Not a suggestion, not a request, not a plea; a command forced out of Dumbledore's mouth with terse determination, not unlike his order that Lucius Malfoy lower his wand moments ago. She was stunned into silence, gaping openly. Her jaw moved up and down but she could produce no words.

Finally, she managed to gasp, "Why?"

"If Lucius Malfoy knows about you, then we can be sure that Voldemort does as well," Dumbledore said, all of his usual traces of mirth completely absent.

Hermione frowned.

"What does that matter?" she sputtered.

"He will have an especially keen interest in you because he knows that _I_ have a keen interest in you. If he were to learn that you could be of value to him…"

Dumbledore's voice trailed off, but his eyes remained trained on Hermione, willing her to understand his concerns.

"You don't want me to tell you anything because you're afraid that Voldemort will find out that _I'm_ the source of the information?" she said slowly.

Dumbledore nodded, his mouth set in a grim line.

"As you said yourself, I cannot protect you all the time. And that is especially true if Voldemort decides that you are essential to his success."

Hermione considered her caretaker's words.

"He could use me as a weapon. He could use my knowledge of the future to do terrible things," she reluctantly conceded.

"Yes, that is what I _should_ be worried about," Dumbledore replied.

Hermione looked up, surprised.

"But it's not?" she asked.

The elderly wizard seemed hesitant to continue.

After her serious injuries at the Department of Mysteries in her fifth year, Hermione had needed to take a complex cocktail of healing potions all summer long. Her father watched her take her daily medicine with a guilty look until Hermione finally snapped and told him that the wizarding world was dangerous and he would just have to understand that he could not be there to protect her. Immediately after the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Her father looked heartbroken at the sudden realization that his little girl was no longer his to protect. Some small part of her father's anguish was now written across Dumbledore's face.

"I could never forgive myself if anything happened to you," he said softly.

'_He's just like Harry_,' she thought. Harry was always wracked with guilt over the danger that his friends were in simply because he was Harry Potter. And just as it frustrated her when Harry acted this way, Hermione was frustrated now with Dumbledore.

"You're being selfish," she said.

Dumbledore looked up, clearly puzzled by her response. Seeing this, Hermione continued.

"You are willing to ignore the fact that I have valuable information because of personal reasons."

She said it like an indictment, but to her surprise, Dumbledore smiled.

"Yes, I suppose I am," he acknowledged calmly.

Hermione huffed and considered his response. She was unprepared for Dumbledore to be so completely adverse to reason. In the future, Dumbledore was always willing to make the right decisions, the decisions that would bring them closer to defeating Voldemort, even if that meant putting innocent people at risk. How many times had he asked Harry to risk his life for the greater good?

"You're not the Dumbledore I know," she accused.

At this, Dumbledore's calm demeanor faltered. His smile dropped away.

"I am sorry to hear that the years have changed me in that regard," he said quietly.

Hermione ignored the creeping guilt she felt for speaking so callously to him and tried once more.

"I'll tell Moody," she threatened. "He'll accept my information. I'll tell him."

"No, you won't," Dumbledore said resolutely. "Agnes made it very clear that all of your actions in this time lead to the future you already know. You must not tell any members of the Order what you know, because we did not know it until very recently in your future."

Hermione felt deflated. That made perfect sense, of course. She must never have given Dumbledore the information about Horcruxes, because it took until her sixth year for him to confirm his suspicions on the matter.

"There must be some way that I can help the Order," she said dejectedly.

"There is," Dumbledore replied. "You can be my eyes and ears among the student population."

Hermione tilted her head to the side.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I know that there are several students who are essentially Death-Eaters-in-training. They are simply biding their time until graduation, when they will join Voldemort and his followers," Dumbledore replied.

"You want me to spy on them?"

"I'm not asking you to follow them around with a quill and scroll taking notes," Dumbledore said wryly. "I simply mean that if you see anything suspicious, if you hear anything about Voldemort, tell me."

Hermione nodded. She knew that she could do so much more for the Order, but if this was all that Dumbledore would allow, what else could she do?

"Of course," she said.

Dumbledore nodded happily. He took a seat in his usual chair and busied himself removing his shoes.

"This has been a stressful day," he said. "I plan on pouring myself a snifter of brandy and starting a great fire to read by. Would you care to do the same? Sans brandy, of course."

Hermione begrudgingly smiled and slipped onto the settee.

"I _am_ of age, you know," she said, giving the Headmaster's liquor cabinet a pointed glance.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with mirth once more.

"Sorry, it's pumpkin juice or nothing," he countered genially.

Moments later, when they were each engrossed in a book and lulled into a relaxed state by the crackling fire, Hermione felt the need to speak once more.

"Professor," she began.

Dumbledore glanced up at her, and she could see the fire dancing in his half-moon lenses.

"I'm glad you're different from the Dumbledore I know."

Dumbledore did not voice a reply, but a small smile crept over his face and he nodded approvingly before returning to his brandy.

~o~o~o~

"I trust that you know your way around?"

"Yes, of course."

"And you are sure that you don't need any assistance?"

Hermione squinted up at her Headmaster through the bright August sun.

"I'll be fine. Lucius Malfoy isn't lurking around a corner for me," she teased.

Dumbledore smiled, but it was a smile that did not reach his eyes.

"I'll see you at home, then," he replied.

She felt a powerful and unexpected swelling of emotion at his use of the word 'home.' In the past, he'd always referred to it as 'the cottage,' and before she knew what was happening, her arms were wrapped around the great wizard and she was squeezing him tightly. It only took him a second to respond in kind. He placed one hand on her shoulder and the other in her hair. She buried her face into the shoulder of his robes for another moment, suddenly embarrassed by her familial display, but when she pulled back, he was smiling.

"See you at home," she echoed.

He nodded, and with a _POP_, Disapparated back to the cottage, leaving Hermione to shop for her school things.

Hermione was struck by the atmosphere of the shop-lined streets. In this decade, as in her own, decent wizards were engaged in a battle against Lord Voldemort and his hateful followers. Yet it seemed that the war had not yet reached the same fevered pitch as in her time. Witches and wizards still walked the streets with a casual stride. Shops were filled with people willing and eager to part with their galleons. She saw the odd "wanted" poster with a scowling Death Eater staring back at her, but _this_ Diagon Alley was certainly nowhere near the eerie, hollow place of the future.

Once she had her bearings, Hermione started off towards Madame Malkin's. The seamstress was no less plump that she had been in the future, but her face was full of good cheer and absent of wrinkles. She had also maintained her flawless efficiency, and before she knew it, Hermione was back out on the cobblestone streets. After quick stops at the cauldron shop, stationary store, and apothecary, Hermione made her way to Gringotts.

Her money for school supplies had come from a special fund that Hogwarts offered to students who lacked the finances to buy their own supplies. However, she did have a small bit of Muggle money saved up from her days with Guillaume. The Frenchman insisted on paying her for her help, despite Hermione's protest that she considered it an enjoyable pastime and not a summer job. Now, however, the money came in handy.

After her stop at Gringotts, Hermione took her recently converted money and headed off to Flourish & Blotts. She had saved this errand for last on purpose, wanting to have the option of lingering to peruse the merchandise. She had enough money from Guillaume to buy several books for leisure reading and still have enough leftover to have some spending money during the school year.

So, after fighting her way through the crowds surrounding the books selected for the Hogwarts' curriculum, Hermione retreated to an abandoned section of the bookstore. Her eyes immediately started scanning the enumerable titles lined up side-by-side along the shelves. She reverently trailed her fingertips along their spines as she moved down the rows. She saw one, two, three tomes that she knew she _must_ bring back with her. So caught up was she in her trance-like state that she almost remained oblivious to the heated conversation occurring one row away from her. She had nearly turned the corner and revealed herself to the quarrelling pair when she heard someone cry out.

"No, Wait! Don't go!"

The voice stopped Hermione in her tracks. She halted her progress and quickly ducked behind the nearest bookshelf.

"I'm done talking to you," came a cold reply.

Hermione gently inched the spines of two dust-covered books apart and peeked between them to view the hostile couple. When she saw who it was, she gasped.

"You haven't been listening to what I've said."

It was Severus Snape.

"I have. I've listened to it all summer long whenever you managed to find me, and my response is still the same."

And Lily Evans.

~o~o~o~

End Notes:

It's Columbus Day in the States. As a history teacher, I can tell you that Christopher Columbus was a huge fanfiction enthusiast.

People were always like, "Columbus, shouldn't you get on that 'discovering the New World' thing."

And he was like, "Back off, man! I'm writing a new chapter in my Lancelot/Guinevere WIP for the _Le Morte d'Arthur_ community!"

So, yeah. In his honor, you should probably leave me a review.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Here we go again! Thanks to my betas, Aling and ReliableNarcotic. Your advice is invaluable. Also, thank you to the people who reviewed last chapter. I know that it's been a while since we've seen the Marauders (they're in this chapter, btw) but it's nice to see that people appreciate some of my original characters and the Hermione/Dumbledore relationship that I'm trying to develop. It's very encouraging. You rock!

~o~o~o~

"_No, Wait! Don't go!"_

_The voice stopped Hermione in her tracks. She halted her progress and quickly ducked behind the nearest bookshelf._

"_I'm done talking to you," came a cold reply._

_Hermione gently inched the spines of two dust-covered books apart and peeked between them to see view the hostile couple. When she saw who it was, she gasped._

"_You haven't been listening to what I've said."_

_It was Severus Snape._

"_I have. I've listened to it all summer long whenever you managed to find me, and my response is still the same."_

_And Lily Evans._

"You haven't really heard what I've said. You don't _want_ to hear me," Snape said desperately.

"Oh, dear! Poor listening skills must be an unfortunate consequence of my _dirty blood_," Lily spat.

Snape glowered at her.

"Stop it. You know I don't think that way."

"Really? Do Mulciber and Avery know you don't think that way? Have you proudly proclaimed to them that you denounce all notions of blood purity?" Lily asked pointedly.

An uncomfortable silence stretched on for a few moments.

"I thought not," Lily said.

Snape grimaced.

"You can't begrudge me the few friends I have in my own house," he snapped.

Lily rolled her eyes.

"I won't begrudge you your friends, but you can't hope to maintain _our_ friendship when you associate with _them_. You can't have it both ways."

"Don't make me choose between you and my house," Snape hissed.

Lily threw her hands up in the air.

"I'm not making you choose; you've already chosen!" she nearly shouted.

"It's just an act! I don't believe a word of The Dark Lord's teachings!"

There was another pause, and when Lily responded, her voice was positively arctic.

"Don't lie to me, Severus."

"Lily, you have to believe me," Snape pleaded.

"You wouldn't have just called him 'The Dark Lord,'" Lily maintained icily.

"That means nothing," Snape insisted.

"You wouldn't have called me _that word_."

At this, Snape seemed to crack. He nearly growled as he stomped a few steps away and then spun and approached her again, pointing an accusatory finger at her.

"How many times do I have to apologize for that? I didn't mean it! It just slipped out! You know exactly what happened; Potter got me so riled up I could scarcely think!"

Lily appeared unmoved.

"A word like that doesn't escape one's lips accidentally."

"I. Didn't. Mean it," Snape bit out from behind his clenched teeth.

Lily shook her head.

"You're slipping. Admit it."

Snape vehemently shook his head.

"No."

Lily pursed her lips but then exhaled quietly and took a step back. She pinned him with a look that fell somewhere between pity and compassion.

"I know why you hate Muggles, Sev. I've met your father," her voice softened.

Snape's eyes flashed with rage.

"This has nothing to do with him," he snarled.

Turning her face skyward, Lily squeezed her eyes shut and let out a frustrated huff of air.

"I can't go 'round in circles with you again," she said, and exasperation was evident in her tone. "You won't face up to the fact that you are heading down a dark path, and I won't sit idly by and smile while you do it."

They stood in silence for another moment. Then Snape spoke, and when he did so he sounded defeated.

"I don't understand why it has to end."

Then Lily laughed. It was an abrupt guffaw, and both Snape and Hermione were jolted by the unexpected sound.

"You're honestly surprised! That _astounds_ me," Lily announced. "You're actually shocked that I can't maintain a friendship with you when you go around _seeking_ friendships with people who… who think I don't have the right to inhabit the same world as them."

Snape scowled.

"You're overreacting," he accused.

Lily fixed him with a furious glare.

"They want people like me _dead_, Severus. What part of that scenario am I _overreacting_ to?" she demanded.

Snape continued to frown.

"I would never let anything happen to you," he muttered.

Lily turned a few degrees, and when she did so Hermione saw that the young witch's eyes were glistening.

"I'm not worried about me. I'm worried about you," she replied quietly.

Snape's tense features softened, and he took on an expression that Hermione had never seen on his face before. He looked heartbroken. He reached out to place a shaking hand on her shoulder, but just before he could do so, Lily pulled back as if his hand might burn her.

"Don't," she barked.

She took a few steps back before she continued.

"This friendship is over. Don't talk to me. Don't send me owls. Don't try to catch my eye in the hallways at school," she ordered.

"Lily," Snape started to plead.

"Just _go_, Snape!"

Perhaps it was the use of his last name, or perhaps it was her desperate tone, but Snape turned and stormed away without another word.

Hermione was stunned. She stood frozen, staring at the books directly in front of her, attempting to digest the scene that she had just witnessed.

Snape was friends with Harry's mother. Good friends until just recently, by the looks of things. It sounded like something Trelawney would predict rather than even the remotest possibility. Hermione stumbled back from the books in a daze and felt herself start to move without being fully conscious of where her feet were taking her. A moment later she felt her body slam into something hard and found herself on the ground, surrounded by books.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" cried a now-familiar voice.

Hermione shook the stars from her eyes and blinked up at Lily Evans. The red-haired witch had not maintained the cool, composed front that she had displayed during her argument with Snape. Her damp cheeks and red nose made that much obvious.

"It's all right," Hermione said numbly, climbing to her knees.

"Here, let me help you," Lily said in a wavering voice.

Before Hermione could wave her off, the other witch was kneeling beside her, helping her gather her many scattered texts.

"Thank you," Hermione mumbled, still trying to regain her bearings.

"Wait, we have all the same books."

Hermione glanced up at Lily, who was holding Hermione's copy of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six_.

"Yes," Hermione replied.

Lily squinted at her.

"You're starting your sixth year at Hogwarts?" she asked.

"Yes."

Hermione was starting to feel like all she was capable of were monosyllabic responses.

"But I've never met you before," Lily continued, staring at Hermione curiously.

"I'm… new."

Lily gaped at her.

"New? I'm sorry; I don't mean to be rude. It's just… I've never known there to be a transfer student at Hogwarts," she explained.

Hermione shrugged apologetically.

"I may be the first."

Lily shook herself before replying.

"Goodness, I'm being so ill-mannered. I'm Lily Evans. And you are?"

Hermione attempted a smile.

"Hermione Granger."

"It's an absolute pleasure, Hermione," Lily said, smiling despite her tearstained face.

"Likewise," Hermione said.

Both girls straightened their piles of books and headed for the register. Hermione noticed the Lily had once more lapsed into silence. Her eyes glistened with new tears, and she appeared to be trying desperately not to let them fall.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked softly.

Lily stared straight ahead, but nodded a little too quickly.

"It's just… I heard the end of your fight with that boy," Hermione continued.

"Severus," Lily supplied, still staring resolutely at the register.

"Yes. And, well, you just seem a bit upset."

Lily swallowed hard and shifted her books so that most of their weight was on her hip. She turned back to Hermione and attempted a genuine grin. She failed.

"Really, I'm fine. It was just a stupid fight."

The line was moving, albeit slowly, and when they were finally next to be rung out, Hermione spoke once more.

"You know, I have to buy a pet. I've never had one before. Would you like to come with me? We could get to know one another. I haven't made any friends yet."

Hermione did not know what inspired such a lie. She hadn't planned on getting a pet, and it would drain most of the money she'd saved from her work at Guillaume's. However, Lily's bright green eyes sparkled with delight when Hermione made the suggestion, and she instantly knew that she'd said the right thing.

After paying for their books, the pair made their way to the Magical Menagerie. The entire way there, Lily tittered happily about her first pet, a cocker spaniel named Missy. Apparently Lily's sister Petunia delighted in fixing the dog's hair with elaborate bows, an exercise that Lily found deplorable. In fact, one of Lily's first bouts of accidental magic occurred because of this practice. The girls came home from school one day to find that each time Petunia approached Missy with a bow, she was flung backwards across the room as if bow and dog were strong magnets of opposite polarity.

Once inside the crowded store, Lily took Hermione around to a bucket filled with enormous purple toads, a cage of highly intelligent black rats, and a pen of furry kittens. Hermione considered her options, but no single creature particularly appealed to her. If she were honest with herself, Hermione would admit that she was actually feeling quite guilty for buying another pet when Crookshanks was all alone back in the future.

"How may I be of assistance, ladies?" a tall wizard in black robes asked as he approached them.

Hermione thought that black robes were a terrible choice, since fur from every animal in the shop appeared to have found its way onto his robes, and the black made each strand stand out in furry detail. She opened her mouth to respond, but Lily placed a gentle hand on her wrist.

"My friend is looking for her first pet. She wants something very special, and nothing here has caught her eye," Lily said boldly.

The wizard looked a little taken aback, but quickly recovered. He eyed Hermione appraisingly.

"Ah, yes. I know precisely the creature for you. Follow me," the man said, confidently strolling behind the checkout counter.

Hermione glanced hesitantly at Lily, who shrugged, but grabbed Hermione's hand and pulled her along. Behind the counter, the store's proprietor stood waiting for them beside a plain brown box. As the girls approached, he gestured for them to peek inside.

"More kittens?" Hermione asked, slightly put out.

The wizard smiled.

"Not kittens," he replied smugly. "Half-kneazles. Just born. Still too young for sale, but I could make an exception for an extraordinary witch."

Hermione knew that she was being flattered for the purpose of making a sale, but she couldn't deny the appeal of these tiny furballs. Then she saw him. He was a bit larger than the rest, with ginger fur and a squashed face, as if he'd run into the side of his box one too many times. The cat stood when he saw Hermione watching him, and she gasped when she noticed the familiar bowed legs and bottlebrush tail.

"Crookshanks," she whispered.

She bent down and lifted the half-kneazle into her arms. She was positive that it was him. He stared at her for a moment, as if determining her merit. Then, quite suddenly, he leaned forward and began nuzzling her neck. She'd always suspected that there was something special about her cat, and now she knew; he was part kneazle.

"This one is very intelligent. Just like his owner," the man said with a knowing smirk.

"I'll take him," she said, smiling at the creature in her arms.

"Are you sure, Hermione?" Lily asked. "He looks a bit squishy in the face. This one's adorable."

Lily held up a spotted kitten with a cute button nose, but Hermione shook her head.

"This is the one I want," Hermione insisted. "I'll call him Crookshanks."

"Perfect!" the shop owner happily exclaimed, clapping his hands.

Hermione paid the man, and the trio exited the shop, Crookshanks happily purring in Hermione's arms while her charmed bags of school supplies floated obediently beside them. Finally, they reached the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione offered to buy Lily lunch, and Lily accepted after a great deal of fussing about paying for her own meal.

It was over lunch that Hermione relayed her half-banshee story. The Muggle-born witch responded unexpectedly well.

"Did you know that Celestina Warbeck recently performed in concert with banshees as her backup singers?" Lily asked.

"No, I didn't," Hermione replied with genuine surprise.

"I personally think the woman is dreadful to listen to, but it's nice to see that she doesn't put any stock into the close-minded view that anyone without one hundred percent pure wizarding blood is somehow deficient," Lily asserted.

Hermione could scarcely contain her excitement.

"Have you ever considered the plight of the house-elf?" she asked.

Hermione had a fabulous time chatting with Lily over lunch. She was intelligent, fair-minded, and friendly. After discussing the feasibility of ending elfish slavery, they moved on to several other topics, including Snape. Lily was still tight-lipped on that particular subject, choosing only to say that he was once a very good friend who had recently fallen in with a bad crowd. She also revealed that the two had been friends since before Hogwarts, something that further astounded Hermione.

When their tea grew cold and all that remained of their food was a few crumbs, Hermione was shocked to realize that their lunch had lasted nearly two hours. She thanked Lily for providing such wonderful company and excused herself.

"It was lovely to meet you. I can't wait to see you in September!" Lily beamed, pulling Hermione into a hug.

"Likewise!" Hermione said earnestly.

She waved goodbye to her new redheaded friend and approached the fireplace of the Leaky Cauldron. She flooed back to the cottage, where Dumbledore was waiting for her, surprised but not at all upset that she had brought them a furry new houseguest.

~o~o~o~

"I'm not sure this is a good idea."

"No, I'm sure that I can get it this time," Dumbledore said, fishing a toothpick out of his bowl of Magic Puffs.

They were enjoying an early breakfast on this day, the first of September.

"You see, the trick is that you tuck the toothpick into the back of your ring so that when you spread your fingers…"

Dumbledore trailed off and proudly opened his hand, displaying his now empty palm.

"Voila! It disappeared!" he cried.

Hermione felt a smile come unbidden to her lips. Before she knew it, she was giggling at the wizard across the table.

"I didn't mean the magic trick, but good show," she congratulated him.

"Oh," Dumbledore said, pulling the toothpick out from its hiding place. "What is not a good idea?"

Hermione's shoulders slumped.

"Going back to school!" she moaned. "I'm going to be a student along with a half-dozen wizards whose futures I know intimately. That can't be a good plan. Are you sure this substitution spell of yours will work?" she rambled nervously.

"If I explain the way the spell works, will it put your mind at ease?" Dumbledore asked.

Hermione nodded gratefully, and Dumbledore pushed aside his bowl of cereal to address her.

"Did you know that people can alter their own memories, Hermione? They, in a sense, tear pieces of a memory out and form patches over the empty spaces, filling in a new past."

Hermione nodded again, remembering Harry's recollection of Slughorn's altered memory.

"The substitution spell works somewhat like that, except that instead of altering my own memory, I would be altering the collective consciousness of the world."

"That sounds impossible," Hermione muttered nervously.

"It is actually easier than it sounds, in your case. When a person alters a memory, the patch job is often obvious and deficient because magic is being used to make something truthful and natural into something false and unnatural. However, you do not belong in this time; your magic is misplaced here. It is much easier to magically remove something that does not belong there in the first place. Therefore, it should be quite simple replace your name."

Hermione blinked. She was startled to hear her existence reduced to something so temporary and fleeting. Dumbledore, perhaps realizing this, proceeded more gently.

"I hope it will not be necessary, but if need be, I can create a substitution for more than just your name."

Hermione looked inquisitively at him.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I could, if necessary, replace your entire presence—your appearance, your actions, your words—with something entirely different and innocuous."

Hermione frowned. She stared at the magnificent floral arrangement in the middle of the kitchen table, a goodbye gift from Guillaume. Prominently featured were blue hydrangeas, her favorite. This was what she had wanted to hear, wasn't it? Staring at the little blue petals, she took a deep breath.

"Do you feel better?" Dumbledore asked.

Hermione straightened up and nodded. Dumbledore smiled serenely and went back to his cereal. Hermione, who was finished eating, retired to the living room and curled up in an armchair with the young Crookshanks in her lap. Her trunk was already packed, so she contented herself by stroking Crookshanks behind his ears until Dumbledore finished reading the paper.

While she was waiting, the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it!" she called, pulling a disgruntled half-kneazle off of her chest and placing him on the chair.

She pulled the door open to reveal Mitsy, whose arms were laden with no fewer than five wrapped packages.

"I come bearing gifts!" she announced happily.

"I can see that!" Hermione replied, grinning.

She took the packages and placed them on the console table, allowing Mitsy to enter the house unburdened.

"Is that Mitsy I hear?" Dumbledore asked, approaching from the kitchen.

"I came to say goodbye," Mitsy said, pulling Dumbledore into a hug.

"We will miss you dearly," Dumbledore said, his voice muffled by Mitsy's shoulder.

The cheerful Muggle pulled back and pointed at the packages on the console table one by one.

"Double fudge walnut brownies, assortment of biscuits, Manchester tart, strawberry rhubarb pie, and Eccles cakes," she explained.

"My mouth is watering already," Dumbledore commented.

"I know you're leaving very soon, but I wanted to send you off with a little something from me," Mitsy supplied.

"You spoil us," Hermione said.

Mitsy swooped down and swallowed Hermione up in a tight hug, and Hermione squeezed back with all her might.

"I'm not one for long goodbyes, and if I stay any longer the waterworks will begin, so I'm off!" she announced as she released Hermione.

"We'll see you during the Christmas holiday," Dumbledore reminded her.

"Too long!" Mitsy cried, quickly heading for the door.

Hermione laughed and waved goodbye. When the door closed, Dumbledore spoke.

"Are you ready to go?"

"Yes, I think I am," she confirmed.

Ten minutes later, they were at King's Cross Station. Dumbledore pushed the cart holding Hermione's trunk. Hermione kept one hand on the young Crookshanks (who was resting with his head buried in Hermione's abundant hair) and the other tucked into the crook of Dumbledore's elbow. She tried to ignore the stares and whispers as students noticed their Headmaster as they came to a stop between Platforms Nine and Ten.

"I'll see you in a few hours," Dumbledore said.

Hermione smiled nervously at him.

"See you in a few hours," she parroted.

"I'm sure you'll make fast friends," Dumbledore said reassuringly.

Unable to hold back any longer, Hermione reached up and pulled the elderly wizard into a quick hug. Then, without another word, Hermione pulled away from Dumbledore and strolled casually through the barrier between platforms.

She emerged onto the bustling Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. The scarlet steam engine stretched out before her, and without sparing a glance for the many staring faces around her, Hermione pulled her trunk onto the train. She stopped at the first empty compartment she saw, stowed her trunk overhead, and slipped inside. Then, pulling Crookshanks to herself, she attempted to relax.

~o~o~o~

"Don't you feel a bit overdressed, Remus?" James asked with a sly grin.

Remus looked down at his clothes. Having just arrived on the platform, he had yet to change into his school robes. He scanned his jeans and oxford polo with a frown.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

He glanced warily back at his friends, and noticed that Sirius, too, was grinning.

"We just assumed you preferred to ride the Hogwarts Express in more casual comfort," Sirius observed innocently.

"After all, wasn't it you who rode all the way back to London last June wearing only your pajamas under your robes?" James inquired.

Remus gritted his teeth and felt his cheeks burn, but he could deny nothing. It was true; on the morning of the last day of the school year, he had stormed out of the boys' dormitory in a huff, grabbing his robe as an afterthought. He'd gone straight to the portrait of Fulbert the Fearful, throwing on his robes as he walked, and accosted Hermione in her room.

It had been a bizarre encounter. The half-banshee told him that Sirius's indecent advances were unwelcome, and then she had sort of petted Remus's face in a way that left him confused yet oddly breathless. He had no idea what the meeting meant. Not that it necessarily mattered. For all he knew, Hermione had chosen to attend a Muggle school this year.

"Are you ever going to let me forget that?" he grumbled.

"Never in a million years," James crowed.

Ignoring his friends' self-congratulatory high five, Remus turned and caught a snippet of another conversation.

"A new student? What do you mean 'new'?"

"I'm not sure."

Remus's eyes widened

"Hey, I see Peter!" James announced.

But Remus was no longer listening to his friends. He was much more interested with the conversation going on behind them.

"I heard she arrived at a moment ago with Dumbledore."

"I heard she ran straight onto the train like her robes were on fire."

"I heard she nearly got into a duel with Lucius Malfoy at the Ministry of Magic!"

"Moony, come on. Peter's just arrived," Sirius reported.

Remus shook himself and refocused on his friends.

"Er, you guys go say 'hi.' I'll find us an empty compartment," he offered.

The boys acquiesced, and as soon as James and Sirius turned away, Remus bolted for the nearest entrance to the Hogwarts Express. He traveled up the aisles as casually as possible, his eyes searching for a bushy mane of brunette hair.

Then he saw her.

She was clutching a small kitten to her chest and staring out the window at the unmoving grey scenery. As he reached for the compartment door, he noticed that his hands were trembling slightly. It was ridiculous. He'd had only three encounters with her; he didn't know her at all. There was no reason to be running to see her on the first day of term, and certainly no reason to be shaking at the mere thought of speaking to her again.

When he looked up from his hands, he stumbled backwards in shock.

"Remus?"

Hermione must have seen him through the compartment doors, because there she was, standing before him, her kitten still clutched to her chest.

"Hello!" Remus yelped, quickly righting himself.

Hermione laughed.

"Are you all right? I didn't mean to startle you," she said.

"No, it's fine. It was me; I'm rather clumsy," he assured her.

Hermione shrugged apologetically just the same and gestured for him to enter the compartment.

"It's good to see you again," she offered.

Remus smiled and stepped inside.

"You too. I'm surprised but pleased that you decided to attend Hogwarts."

Hermione shrugged again.

"'The stars above us govern our conditions,'" she quoted.

Remus eyed her curiously.

"Do you really believe that? That our fate is already written? That we have no free will at all?" he asked.

She lapsed into a brief silence, and Remus could tell that she was considering his question very seriously.

"I'm starting to believe it. More and more every day," she replied enigmatically.

"Hermione?" a female voice interrupted.

A familiar red-haired head peeked around the corner of the compartment.

"Oh, Remus! Hello," Lily said cheerfully.

Remus politely waved. Lily shuffled around him, placing her trunk in the overhead compartment. She gave Hermione a quick hug, squishing the cat in between them in a way that the creature did not appreciate, judging by his disgruntled mewl.

"I see you've met Remus," Lily commented.

"Oh, we actually met last June. I visited Hogwarts briefly," Hermione corrected.

"Really? Who else did you meet?" she prompted.

"The rest of the Marauders," Lupin interjected.

"Oh good lord, really? And you still decided that Hogwarts was the right decision?" Lily balked.

Hermione laughed, and Remus quirked a smile. Then he caught something out of the corner of his eye and groaned.

"Speak of the devils," he muttered.

"Moony, I thought you were acquiring an _empty_ compartment for us," Sirius commented, appearing suddenly in the corridor.

"Shut it, Padfoot!" James hissed. "This one's perfect."

He ran a careful hand through his messy hair and stared unabashedly at Lily, who looked as if she was concentrating very hard on a wandless hex.

"You're right, Prongs. How rude of me. Hermione, darling, it's smashing to see you again," Sirius said grandly.

"Hi, Hermione," Peter and James chorused.

"Hello, everyone. It's good to see you all again," she replied.

"Say, are you going to be sorted?" Peter asked timidly.

Hermione frowned.

"I suppose I'll have to be," she remarked.

This idea had not occurred to her earlier. She flushed as she thought of sitting up in front of the entire Great Hall. She wanted nothing more than to fade in with the rest of the student body.

"I bet you're a Ravenclaw," Peter continued. "You read more than Remus, if that's even possible."

"No way. She's going to be in Gryffindor. You should have heard the way she dealt with Snivellus when he caught her out after curfew," Sirius asserted.

The Marauders shared a smirk, Remus included, but Lily turned on Hermione.

"You met Severus in June as well?" she demanded.

"Well, we didn't exactly have a formal introduction. I doubt he even remembers me," Hermione insisted.

Lily looked intensely suspicious, but Hermione was more distracted by the look on James's face. He was positively seething with anger.

"It's nice to hear that you and Snape are still on a first name basis, Evans. How is old Snivellus, anyways? See any Dark Marks floating over the old neighborhood this summer?" James asked cruelly.

Lily whirled on James and pointed her index finger at him, jabbing him for emphasis at the end of each sentence.

"My relationship with Severus is none of your business, Potter. Now, as you can see, this compartment is taken. Please kindly take your leave and find one with enough space to fit your fat head," she raged.

James scowled deeply and opened his mouth to reply, but before he could do so, Sirius interjected.

"Two witches do not a full compartment make, Lily dear!" the handsome boy pointed out.

"There's not room for all six of us," Lily maintained, moving her hands to her hips.

"No worries!" Sirius proclaimed before plopping himself down beside her. "You can take a seat right here."

He patted his thigh. Lily blinked slowly before directing her narrowed eyes back at his face.

"I'd sooner sit on a patch of Venomous Tentacula," she retorted.

"And if you did, I would be happy to assist you in applying essence of Murtlap to your wounds," James offered, apparently unable to resist a good quip, even in his foul mood.

"Ugh, can you at least wait to be vile until we arrive at school? As soon as our carriages arrive at the castle, I swear you can start reminding me about just how unpleasant you are. Just let me have these few hours, please?" Lily pleaded.

James frowned, but said nothing. Lily had left him speechless. Hermione thought that she saw actual hurt in the boy's eyes.

"James, you really _do_ need to work on your bedside manner with the ladies," Sirius chided. "You could take a lesson from me. Hermione will vouch for me, won't you luv? I have excellent bedside manner, yes?"

Hermione blushed and, knowing it was exactly what he wanted, fought the urge to spit out a stinging rejoinder.

"Yes, you should write a book, Sirius. You could call it _Romance Tricks of the Homely Wizard_," Remus suggested.

Hermione snorted, and Remus looked supremely pleased.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand, Moony. A beauty like mine is enjoyed by a special kind of witch," Sirius countered.

"Yeah, the visually impaired," James cracked.

The cart erupted in laughter. Even Lily smirked. Sirius, on the other hand, scowled, no longer amused by his compatriots.

"Says the boy whose hair looks as though it he styled it with whilst riding his broomstick," he snapped.

James frowned and touched his hair, which looked carefully windswept.

"All right, all of you. Get out before you set a new record and lose House Points before we even get to school," Lily threatened.

The boys apparently decided that they'd had enough fun for one afternoon, because they finally relented and filed back out into the corridor.

Remus quickly found himself being edged toward the compartment doors in the shuffle.

"I'll see you later, Hermione," he managed to get out just before he backed out into the aisle.

"Yes, see you!" Hermione called out.

As soon as the boys disappeared into the next car, Lily groaned.

"Ugh. Remus Lupin is a nice boy, but he has the absolute worst taste in friends."

"They _are_ a bit much," Hermione conceded.

"They're _awful_," Lily corrected. "I mean, they would be tolerable if they were merely rowdy, smug idiots, but they're also bullies."

She threw herself down into her seat before continuing.

"Remus isn't nearly as bad as the rest of them. His problem is that he's so desperate to be liked that he sits by and watches while they torment other students rather than telling them to stop."

Hermione knew exactly why Remus was so desperate to be liked. He had managed to find friends who loved him despite his condition, and he was determined to cling to them. It was perfectly reasonable, in her opinion.

"Friends are important to him," she said coolly.

Lily looked taken aback by Hermione's shift in tone, and she adopted a slightly remorseful expression.

"Say, did you get a chance to preview our Transfiguration textbook?" she asked.

"Yes," Hermione answered, unsure as to where Lily was going with this line of questioning.

"What did you think of the author's take on Animagi?" the redhead inquired.

It was then that Hermione realized that Lily knew that her comments about Remus had offended her, and this was the green-eyed witch's olive branch.

"I thought she spent a bit too much time focusing on the dangers of attempting the incantation rather than the mechanics of the transformation. It read more like a warning to naughty school children rather than an serious scholarly text," Hermione responded.

Lily grinned.

"I couldn't agree more," she concurred.

Lily was a very popular girl, if the ride to Hogwarts was any indication. No fewer than two-dozen witches and wizards entered the compartment at different times to say 'hello.' They were not all Gryffindors, either. Lily seemed to be the poster girl for inter-house unity. No Slytherins made an appearance, but Hermione had the distinct feeling that Severus Snape would have done so had it not been for his summer fight with the girl.

With about thirty minutes until their arrival, at an odd moment when their compartment was empty save for themselves, Lily excused herself for her Prefects meeting. During her absence, Hermione changed into her school robes and then contented herself with rereading her Transfiguration book while Crookshanks purred on her feet.

Lily reappeared looking flushed and agitated when Hogsmeade Station came into view. Hermione took in her frantic appearance and made a prediction as to the cause.

"Potter?" she guessed.

Shaking her head furiously, Lily motioned for Hermione to be quiet. A second later Snape walked by flanked by two taller wizards. All three were chuckling nastily, although Hermione supposed that she might be projecting the nastiness on them because the Snape she knew was a generally nasty person.

As soon as they passed, Lily slumped against her seat. Hermione gave her a sympathetic glance before straightening up to retrieve both of their trunks from overhead. Lily seemed to have come back to herself when Hermione presented the witch with her trunk, and together they joined the herd of students in filing off the Hogwarts Express.

Lily was unusually quiet on the carriage ride to the castle, but she grabbed Hermione's hand when the mob entered the Great Hall. Students boisterously piled onto the long benches of their respective house tables, but before Lily and Hermione could do the same, a hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"Hermione, you will have to sit up front for the sorting," Dumbledore explained.

Hermione felt her stomach plummet at the thought of three hundred curious eyes on her, but she soon found herself swept up in a tight embrace.

"You'll do great!" Lily whispered excitedly.

She pulled back and gave Hermione a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before departing for the Gryffindor table. Hermione nervously followed Dumbledore, who indicated that she should take a seat in a chair by the edge of the staff table. She felt a hundred sets of eyes fall on her as she moved to the front of the room.

She was thankful when, a moment later, McGonagall took center stage. The stern witch gestured for the first-years to remain in line at the front of the hall while she moved forward to set down a small four-legged stool. On top of the stool she placed an old, patched hat with a long rip across its brim. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, the rip split open and the hat began to sing, much to the astonishment of a few unapprised first-years.

_Oh I may seem old and shabby_

_But look beyond my brim and see_

_No beanie, cap, or bowler_

_Can top a head like me_

_Forget berets and bonnets_

_Even crowns don't reign supreme_

_You see, only I can sort you_

_As 'twas our founders' dream_

_For when you get to wear me_

_It's not fashion I provide_

_But a look that goes within you_

_To the true self you can't hide._

_Perhaps you're meant for Gryffindor_

_Where all are brave and true_

_Gryffindors risk peril_

_When that's the thing to do_

_You might do well in Hufflepuff_

_If your heart is strong and kind_

_Hard work and perseverance_

_Is where Hufflepuffs align_

_Perchance your house is Ravenclaw_

_Where the brightest minds reside_

_A crafty curiosity _

_Will always be their guide_

_Or maybe you're for Slytherin_

_Where ambition turns the screw _

_You'll always find a cunning mind_

_In this enterprising crew_

_So, don't retreat! Come put me on!_

_And please don't lose your head,_

_For then my job would cease to be,_

_My counsel left unsaid!_

McGonagall stepped forward as the Sorting Hat closed its makeshift mouth, holding a scroll of parchment in her outstretched hands.

"Before we move on to the sorting of the first-years, I will invite down our newest student, who will be joining our sixth-years, Miss Hermione Granger."

Hermione took a deep breath and shakily pushed out her chair, which seemed to scrape unbearably loudly on the stone floor. Trying to ignore the fact that everyone in the Great Hall was staring at her, Hermione hurried up to the stool. She took another deep breath and sat as Professor McGonagall lifted the Sorting Hat and placed it gently on her head.

Hermione gripped the edges of the stool and hoped the whole thing would be over quickly and she could slip over to the Gryffindor table and hide among the crowd.

"Gryffindor, eh?" said a small voice.

'_Yes_,'Hermione thought. '_I know I belong in Gryffindor._'

"You seem very certain, but I sense an extraordinary level of intelligence…" the voice mused.

'_Ravenclaw is lovely, but I know I'm a Gryffindor__**,**_' Hermione

"What's this? Ah, your wheels are always turning, planning your actions five steps ahead. You know exactly what you must do to achieve your goal at all times, don't you?"

'_Yes, I'm very smart, I get that. But I'm no Ravenclaw_,' Hermione thought exasperatedly.

"Ravenclaw? No, I've moved on from that, my dear. I can see you scheming as you sit here. You have a lot of secrets, don't you?"

Hermione frowned.

'_No. I—_'

Hermione froze, terrified by the sudden realization that she might not be put in the house to which she knew she belonged. And then the hat opened its cloth mouth and bellowed its fateful decree.

"You can't hide yourself from me!" the hat said triumphantly. "You would do great things in any house. Your courage is undeniable, yet so is your shrewdness… It's a close call, to be sure… Better be…" the hat paused.

'_Gryffindor_,' Hermione thought desperately.

'_Gryffindor._'

'_Gryffindor, Gryffindor, GRYFFINDOR!_'

"SLYTHERIN!" the hat bellowed.

~o~o~o~

_Meanwhile, twenty years in the future (or two months earlier)…_

"Am I to understand that you believe that Miss Granger accidentally Apparated back in time, into Professor Snape's memory?"

Four very guilty looking wizards avoided looking anywhere near Dumbledore's half-moon spectacles.

"Yes," Ron muttered.

"Well, that _is_ interesting, isn't it?" Dumbledore murmured.

"Interesting? It's bloody terrifying is what it is!" Ron blurted out. Then he hastily added, "Sorry, Headmaster."

"That is quite all right, Mr. Weasley. Would you excuse me for a moment?"

There was a chorus of, "Yes, sir." Fred led the way toward the door but stopped short when he saw that Dumbledore was stooped over his fireplace. It became rapidly clear that Dumbledore meant to excuse himself from the room and not the other way around.

The Headmaster murmured a destination that none present save for him could hear, and then he plunged his face into the surge of green flames. He proceeded to spend the next few minutes with only his back end sticking out into the room. Where his front half was, the boys could only guess.

"He must be talking to someone from the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad," Fred said knowingly.

"I don't know. If Dumbledore can't fix this, I doubt that some government bureaucrat can," Harry reasoned.

"Maybe he's gone to get Mum," George speculated, looking very pale all of a sudden.

"Sweet Merlin! He wouldn't; would he?" Fred gulped.

"I'd rather he just report us to the Improper Use of Magic Office and have us put on trial," George moaned.

"Will you all shut up?" Ron growled. "All this guessing isn't helping."

George looked like he was about to respond sharply before Fred laid a warning hand on his twin's wrist. Fred shook his head, indicating that it was best just to let the younger boy be. George rolled his eyes, but before he could do much else, Dumbledore pulled his head out from the fire.

"I have just conferred with the leading Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries. He has agreed to send his most talented employee, an Unspeakable who deals exclusively with matters of time, to join us to discuss our best course of action," the aged wizard explained.

Each of the four younger wizards started to speak at once, but before any of them could finish a thought, the fireplace flashed green once more and a high-heeled black boot emerged, followed closely by the rest of a witch. She was made of hard angles that her tailored black robes and steely grey bob did nothing to soften. When she spoke, it was in the clipped tones of someone who could not spare the time for lingering consonants.

"I was directly in the middle of an extremely important Ministry assignment. Let's make this quick," the witch commanded.

Dumbledore smiled.

"Gentlemen, I would like to introduce you to Ms. Agnes Coupe," he said. "Agnes, may I introduce three of the Weasley brothers and Mister Harry Potter."

The brusque woman glanced indifferently at all four of them, but when her eyes met the twins', she froze, and something seemed to click.

"You must have called me here to ask about that infuriating Granger girl."

~o~o~o~

End Notes:

WARNING: Reviewing my story has been shown to result in certain side effects among most readers: Namely, increased awesomeness and the ability to fly.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Thank you to my lovely betas! Without you, I'd be floundering with misplaced commas and dangling plot points.

As you can guess by now, this story is going to develop slowly. I would love to have a bunch of Remus/Hermione scenes immediately, but that's just not natural. I'd hate to hurry into things and make my story seem OOC or rushed, so please bear with me. The next chapter is chock full of Marauder goodness, including a little Remus/Hermione UST.

Also, many reviewers seem concerned with my decision to put Hermione in Slytherin. These people either think (a) the hat would never put Hermione in Slytherin because she would ask it not to and/or (b) I'll never get Hermione and Remus together if they're in separate houses. I think I've dealt with concern A in this chapter. As for concern B, well, just think Romeo and Juliet.

~o~o~o~

_Last time…_

"_Gentlemen, I would like to introduce you to Ms. Agnes Coupe," he said. "Agnes, may I introduce three of the Weasley brothers and Mister Harry Potter."_

_The brusque woman glanced indifferently at all four of them, but when her eyes met the twins', she froze, and something seemed to click. _

"_You must have called me here to ask about that infuriating Granger girl." _

~o~o~o~

"How did she know that Hermione's infuriating?"

"Bloody hell!"

"Is she a seer?"

"It must be Legilimency!"

The din of four mingling voices was abruptly silenced by one curt reply.

"I do not invade lesser minds unless it is absolutely necessary. And the next person to accuse me of making a living reading tea leaves is going to find themselves wandless in Siberia."

Dumbledore's office once again exploded in a ruckus as the young wizards clamored for information.

"Was that a no?"

"Did she just call us all stupid?"

"Did your boss tell you?"

"So, how did you know about Hermione?"

Coupe cleared her throat impatiently and the room once more quieted.

"Yes, yes, no, and because I encountered her in the past, obviously," she related irritably.

This time, Coupe merely stood back and apathetically examined her nails as the inevitable commotion started up again.

"Is she all right?"

"Why hasn't she Apparated back yet?"

"So she survived the trip?"

"Did she—wait, you thought she might not have SURVIVED?"

This last comment was spoken by a very distressed Ron Weasley and was directed at Fred. His eyes screamed murder, and it was only Dumbledore's interruption that stopped him from physically attacking his brother.

"Let's focus on the good news, shall we, Mr. Weasley? Apparently Hermione arrived safely in 1975 and was able to make contact with the very person most likely to help her find her way back home," the Headmaster noted sagely.

Ron begrudgingly accepted this information with a terse nod.

"Agnes," Dumbledore continued, turning his focus on the austere witch. "What do you remember about your encounters with Hermione in the past?"

Coupe sighed deeply, as if the question was completely tedious.

"Nothing," she replied matter-of-factly.

There was a brief pause, and then…

"I don't understand."

"What do you mean, 'nothing'?"

"Is this a joke?"

"Seriously, you thought your stupid device might have KILLED my best friend?"

"Ron, focus!" Harry scolded, and Ron managed to look suitably contrite.

"Agnes, perhaps you could elucidate?" Dumbledore suggested.

Giving Dumbledore a deeply exasperated look, Coupe spun on her heel and marched straight over to the fireplace. Before any of the wizards present understood what was happening, a wall of bright green flames shot up in the hearth.

"MINISTRY OF MAGIC!" Coupe shouted.

And then she was gone.

~o~o~o~

_Two Months Later (or twenty years earlier)…_

"The hat's certainly taking long enough," Peter Pettigrew stated.

The Marauders stared intently at Hermione Granger, who had been sitting nervously at the head of the Great Hall wearing a very tatty old wizard's hat for quite some time.

"It's probably debating between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw," Remus hypothesized.

"Speaking from experience, Moony?" Sirius asked knowingly.

Remus shrugged and smiled.

"Wasn't it _you_ who the hat almost placed in Slytherin?" the werewolf inquired innocently.

Sirius's nostrils flared and a retort immediately spewed out from his lips.

"For a split second!" he hissed, causing a few nearby Gryffindors to stare.

His fellow Marauders chuckled, but Sirius quickly rallied.

"No, shut it," he snapped. "For a split second after I put the ragged old thing on it _mentioned_ that the Blacks had always done well in Slytherin, but—"

"Case closed," James concluded gleefully.

"BUT!" Sirius continued hotly. "It quickly detected the presence of a soul and conscience in me and rightly placed me here. Although how you lot escaped Slytherin, I'll never know."

Sirius scowled at his compatriots, but only Peter looked slightly intimidated. Remus and James continued to smirk at his indignation.

"It's okay, Sirius. The hat briefly considered me for Slytherin too," Peter admitted.

The boys whipped around to face Peter, each looking slightly disturbed. Squirming under their gaze, Peter quickly diverted their attention.

"I think it's about to announce its decision," he noted, pointing to the Sorting Hat.

Sure enough, the hat's brim ripped wide open and it spoke loudly enough for the entire room to hear.

"Better be…" it began.

There was a brief pause.

"Gryffindor," Remus murmured under his breath.

"SLYTHERIN!" the hat bellowed.

Remus was sure his jaw hit the table.

"Merlin's balls!" James exclaimed.

"I kissed her. There were Slytherin lips on _my lips_!" Sirius whined, snatching a cloth napkin from the table and rubbing it furiously against his mouth.

"She did a great job of _pretending_ to be pleasant," Peter muttered.

"Do you think it counts? I mean, she wasn't officially a Slytherin at the time," Sirius asked, his voice muffled by the napkin.

"A Slytherin is a Slytherin from birth, mate," James asserted, shaking his head in a commiserating sort of way.

"Blech!" Sirius responded, moving the napkin up and down more rapidly.

"They're going to kill her," Remus whispered.

Peter frowned.

"What was that?" he asked.

Remus snapped out of his daze and addressed his friends directly.

"The Slytherins; they're going to kill her when they find out what she is," he fretted.

Distressed, Remus glanced around the table and happened to catch Lily's eye. His fellow Prefect looked similarly concerned, although she smiled meekly when she saw him. The three other boys shared a brief moment during which they glanced awkwardly at each other as Lupin's meaning sunk in.

"They won't hurt her. She's one of their own now," James replied weakly, not quite meeting Lupin's eyes.

"Yeah, she'll be fine," Peter affirmed.

"And if she isn't, do you really care all that much? She is a _Slytherin_, after all," Sirius said with a lopsided grin.

Remus glowered at his friend.

"Of course I care. Being a Slytherin does not automatically make one evil, you know," he growled.

He kept his eyes fixed on Hermione. He was so caught up in the petrified look on her face that he did not hear Sirius when the boy muttered, "Since when?"

~o~o~o~

Hermione was frozen on the stool, unable to mentally process the pronouncement that the Sorting Hat had just made. She felt like she was wearing earplugs. The only sounds she could hear were the pulsing rush of blood in her veins, her own labored breathing, and the staccato thumping of her heart against her ribs.

Her eyes locked onto the Gryffindor table, where people appeared to be moving in slow motion. Lily's green eyes widened in surprise, but she managed to force out a reassuring smile and nod. A few seats away Hermione watched the Marauders' expressions transform in tandem. Their mouths fell open in shock; eyebrows that were raised in anticipation now drew together in confusion; and for some reason Sirius began scrubbing his mouth with a napkin.

Then it was as if somebody hit a Muggle power switch. All at once the disorder in the Great Hall came rushing back at normal speed and volume, and Hermione's ears were assaulted by the cheering of the Slytherin table.

"Go on, dear. Take a seat with your housemates," Minerva McGonagall prompted.

Hermione felt like she was in desperate need of some Skele-Grow. Her legs seemed boneless and rubbery when she attempted to stand. Acting quickly, Professor McGonagall grabbed Hermione's elbow and steadied her while she forced herself to her feet. She stumbled numbly to the Slytherin table and literally fell onto the bench when she made it to her destination. It was then that she realized that her mouth was hanging open, and she hastily snapped it shut.

"Welcome to Slytherin!" a burly boy with sandy hair exclaimed, clapping her on the back.

Hermione slid halfway off the bench and would have toppled the rest of the way to the ground had the boy not hoisted her back up by her robes.

"Are you okay? You look like you're about to be ill," a female voice asked.

Hermione did not see the speaker, because she was staring determinedly at a goblet of pumpkin juice, trying to clear some stubborn black spots from her vision.

"Just give her some air, Val," the sandy-haired boy ordered.

"I just want to say hello, Darius. She is in _my year_, after all," the female voice snapped.

"Why isn't she answering?" asked a new voice.

"She's losing color," called yet another voice.

"Hey! Hermione! That's your name, right?" the girl called Val shouted, grabbing the pale witch by the shoulders and shaking her.

Hermione blinked.

"Yes?" she answered weakly.

"Oh good. She's not mute," Val quipped. "So tell us your story. Where did you come from? Why are you just starting Hogwarts this year?"

Hermione reluctantly pulled her focus from the goblet and glanced at her audience. A dozen curious faces turned towards her, and she realized that they expected her to respond.

Why was she here?

'_Oh no_,' she thought. '_I have to tell them I'm only half human! They'll murder me in my sleep!_'

But what else could she do?

The Sorting Hat announced, "HUFFLEPUFF!" for a nervous boy introduced as "Atkins, Jonathan" and the opposite end of the hall erupted in cheers and applause. Once the din died down, Hermione knew that she had to say something.

"I, er… The reason I didn't attend Hogwarts earlier is because I… never got a letter," she mumbled.

"What? Why wouldn't you get a letter?" the boy called Darius prodded.

They paused once more as "Caradear, Jordana" was announced for Ravenclaw, but once the ruckus faded, all eyes were once more on Hermione.

"Well, you see… I'm… That is to say that m-my m-mother… M-my father…" she stuttered weakly.

Hermione felt her stomach churn uncomfortably. The room began to spin. It seemed as though the room had increased in temperature several hundred degrees.

Then, with no further warning, Hermione lurched forward and promptly spilled the contents of her stomach all over the girl asking the questions.

Even more unfortunately for Hermione, she happened to lose her lunch during one of the quieter moments in the Great Hall. The Sorting Hat was having an especially difficult time placing a first-year called "Danton, Gabriel," and so the tables were silently awaiting the Hat's decision. At Hermione's noisy interruption, three hundred sets of eyes converged on the messy scene with horrified interest.

Aghast, the Slytherin girl sprung up from the bench and screeched, "_SCOURGIFY!_" with her wand aimed at her robes. The mess disappeared, but the awful silence did not. Even the Sorting Hat appeared to have given up trying to figure out where to place the Danton boy for the moment. Hermione snatched a napkin from the table with shaky hands and wiped her mouth.

Then she did something distinctly un-Gryffindor.

She fled.

She nearly tripped as she swiveled around and leapt from the bench. She ignored the awed looks of the students as they followed her progress to the opposite end of the Great Hall. Her fingernails scratched against the heavy oak doors in her haste to leave, and it took her a moment to think to use her wand. Muttering a spell, she was relieved to see the doors swing open to allow her to escape.

Her shoes pounded against the flagstone floors, echoing off the cavernous walls in the torch-lit entryway. She made a beeline for the wide marble staircase and took the steps two at a time, scarcely remembering to stop at the sixth floor. She flew down the corridor so quickly that several portraits shouted at her to slow down.

Finally, she arrived in front of a familiar face and immediately hunched over with her hands on her knees and tried to regain her breath.

"Dragon Pox!" she wheezed.

The only response she received was a high-pitched squeal. Hermione didn't even bother straightening up; she continued to stare at the floor and pant. A moment later, she was rewarded with a slightly more measured response.

"Merlin, you terrified me! Is it September the First already? Oh dear, the halls will be swarming with careless ruffians posing every sort of danger to my canvas!"

"Dragon Pox," Hermione repeated, righting herself.

Fulbert the Fearful was clutching the arms of a threadbare caquetoire, apparently trying to become one with the upholstery.

"Fine," the timid wizard spat.

With one last huff, he swung open to reveal a small but lush private suite. However, the sight did not bring any true relief to Hermione because the room was not at all how she remembered it. In June her quarters had been decorated neutrally in tones of cream and taupe. Now everything in the room, from the draperies to the dining chairs, was adorned in shades of silver and green. Her stomach plummeted to somewhere by her ankles when she saw the image of a serpent coiled around the seams of her bedding. She now remembered reading in _Hogwarts, A History_ that the castle's guestrooms were charmed to reflect the inhabitant's house. Since Hogwarts did not recognize Hermione in June she had enjoyed a plain but charming room. Now, however, reminders of her current predicament surrounded her.

Ignoring the horrid agitation in her stomach, Hermione moaned miserably and threw herself onto the bed. She squeezed her eyes closed, buried her face in an emerald pillow, and willed herself not to cry. It was pointless, however, and her cheeks grew hot and wet against the fabric of the pillow as tears escaped her closed lids. No more than thirty minutes could have passed when Hermione heard the portrait hole swing open. She tensed immediately but could not bring herself to lift her tearstained face to see who had entered.

"I thought I might find you here."

It was Dumbledore.

"You did this on purpose!" she muttered into her pillow.

"I beg your pardon?"

Hermione whipped her head around to face the Headmaster. She pointed an accusatory finger in his direction.

"You want me to spy for the Order. What better way for me to hear what's going on with future Death Eaters than to live among them?"

She saw Dumbledore's eyes widen for a split second before his carefully serene expression fell back into place.

"I assure you that the Sorting Hat cannot be tampered with in that way, nor would I presume it my right to place you in a house that did not suit you simply for my own benefit," he replied calmly.

Hermione deflated. Of course, she knew that Dumbledore would not have done such a thing, but the alternative—the idea that she might actually belong in Slytherin—was too upsetting to contemplate.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled.

She glanced around the room once more, feeling claustrophobic. The green walls appeared to be pressing in on her, and she squeezed her eyes shut miserably.

"It's quite all right. You are clearly upset. May I venture a guess that you are not a member of Slytherin in your own time?" Dumbledore commented offhandedly.

"Gryffindor," Hermione provided.

"Hmm. How interesting."

Hermione glanced at the Headmaster once more, giving him a withering stare.

"Yes, very interesting," she deadpanned.

Dumbledore smiled.

"What I mean is that the Sorting Hat is supposed to consider the wearer's choices. It should not have sent you to the very house that you told it you did not want."

Hermione frowned. She replayed the events in the Great Hall again in her mind, and slowly voiced her recollection.

"I told it I knew I wasn't a Ravenclaw, but… I never said a thing about Slytherin. It never even occurred to me that I might be placed there. It's absurd," she avowed.

"What is so absurd about it?" Dumbledore asked.

Hermione threw her hands up.

"Well, for starters, I'm actually Muggle-born!" she stated, exasperated.

Dumbledore slowly clasped his hands before his face, resting his chin on his index fingers.

"What makes you think that there has never been a Muggle-born in Slytherin?"

Hermione gaped dumbly.

"Have there been?" she asked.

"Most definitely."

Dumbledore spoke with such certainty that she believed him without question.

"How is your stomach?" Dumbledore asked, changing the subject.

"Fine, I guess," Hermione murmured, too busy considering what she had just heard to think about her gastrointestinal issues.

Dumbledore held out a small vial of potion, which Hermione begrudgingly accepted and drank. She immediately felt a rush of gentle warmth flowing through her body. It coated her insides, settling her stomach and ever so slightly calming her nerves. She exhaled deeply.

"You know, Hermione," Dumbledore began. "Your presence can only be good for the members of your new house. You can teach them tolerance."

"Yes. Please have that inscribed on my tombstone. 'Hermione Granger: Taught Slytherins a valuable lesson just before her untimely demise at their hands.'"

Although she said it sarcastically, Hermione felt a real pang of fear when she thought about the torment she might suffer at the hands of her bigoted housemates.

"I hope you know that I would never let anything happen to you," Dumbledore said, frowning.

Hermione pinned him with a solemn look.

"With all due respect, Headmaster, you can't keep that promise."

Before Dumbledore could reply, there was a knock at the door.

"Oh good. I have invited one of your housemates here to assist with your integration into your new house."

Hermione braced herself.

'_Please don't be the girl I threw up on. Anyone but her!_' Hermione prayed to any higher power that might be listening.

Dumbledore pushed the door open to reveal a skinny boy with pale skin, a large hooked nose, and greasy black hair.

'_I suppose I should have been more specific_,' Hermione thought.

"Severus, thank you for coming," Dumbledore greeted Snape, gesturing for him to take a seat beside his chair. On the bed, Hermione drew her knees up to her chin as if contracting her body would allow her to disappear.

This younger version of Snape did not move in the same intimidating manner as the Snape she knew. There was no swooping, menacing movement, no large robes billowing out from behind him. And yet his piercing eyes met hers with a look of such loathing that she felt just as unsettled as she ever had as his pupil.

"Severus, there is something that I am going to tell you about Miss Granger that I expect you to accept with the grace befitting someone with the title of Prefect."

Snape nodded cautiously.

"The reason for Hermione's late acceptance to Hogwarts is a matter of her birth. You see, her mother was a banshee."

Snape stared at the Headmaster, his mouth set in a thin line, his eyes narrowed. Without him saying a word, Hermione could tell exactly what he was thinking: '_You cannot be serious._'

"Her father passed away last June, and she stayed with me for the summer. Of course, her heritage has no effect whatsoever on her magical ability. She is a witch of extraordinary talent and character, and she is a worthy addition to your house."

Snape's mouth twitched, but he maintained his silence, allowing Dumbledore to continue.

"I know that you, out of all of your housemates, are capable of the sort of compassion and tolerance that Miss Granger will find invaluable as she adjusts to her new home."

Hermione's look now mirrored Snape's incredulous glare, for 'compassionate' and 'tolerant' were among the top ten words that Hermione would least associate with Snape. Additional words on that list included 'nurturing' and 'giddy.'

"As such," Dumbledore continued, apparently oblivious to the increasingly skepticism of his audience, "I have chosen you to inform your housemates of the reason for Miss Granger's sudden arrival."

Snape's mouth twitched once more, and this time his eyes flashed dangerously. Dumbledore, perhaps noticing this, placed a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder.

"I trust you to protect her, Severus, when I cannot," he said gravely, sounding for all the world like an anxious father.

Snape's eyes did not soften in the least, but he gave the Headmaster a curt nod. Apparently deciding that this reaction was good enough, Dumbledore released Snape's shoulder and rose from his chair.

"Well, you two should be getting to your common room. You have a busy week ahead of you."

As Dumbledore approached the door, Hermione felt panic flare up inside her once again.

"Headmaster," she called out.

He turned back to face her, and she faltered, unsure of what she wanted to say. Taking in her alarm, Dumbledore drew back to the bed. He rested his hands on her shoulders and tilted his head down so that he might view her from over his half-moon glasses.

"You are an uncommonly resilient and capable witch, Hermione. I have the utmost confidence that you will thrive in your new environment."

In any other circumstance, his words would have brought a delighted blush to her face. However now, with her anxiety so great, his words fell over her without any reassuring effect. Even the pressure of his hands on her shoulders felt dull and cold. She tried to force a smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. As he released her, she glanced at Snape and saw that he was watching them with a calculating intensity.

Bidding them both goodnight, Dumbledore took his leave. Snape rose and strode out after him without so much as a word to Hermione. The nervous witch stumbled off the bed and hurried to follow her future Potions Master, ignoring Fulbert when he complained that she swung him shut at an unsafe speed. Hermione saw the ends of Dumbledore's robes as he whipped around the corner on his way upstairs to his quarters. She redirected her attention to Snape, who was marching in the opposite direction.

She rushed after him toward the dungeons, her apprehension growing with every step. She felt confident enough in her knowledge of Snape's character to predict that he had not taken the Headmaster's request to heart. She had to look no further than Snape's treatment of Harry. Snape owed James Potter a life debt, and how did he repay him? By treating James's son with just enough care to refrain from actively facilitating the boy's murder, all the while relishing in his daily torment.

So, while Snape might not actively try to harm Hermione, she felt reasonably sure that he would not protect her from others. It wasn't in his best interests to do so, after all. Hermione would have to change that. That would prove difficult, however, as Snape was already on the third floor and was gaining speed.

"Wait! Severus!" she called after him, feeling ridiculous for using his first name.

Of course, Snape didn't stop. He sped up and Hermione tried again once they had reached the second floor landing.

"Snape! Stop!"

Her future professor actually _did_ stop this time, but Hermione would have bet all of the galleons in Gringotts that he was rolling his eyes as he did so.

"What?" he snapped, turning 'round to face her.

Hermione took a step back at his tone but quickly composed herself.

"Look, I know that you already dislike me. And I also know that I didn't make the best first impression."

Snape gave her a pointed look.

"Or second impression. Or third," she amended.

He emitted a longsuffering sigh that made it clear that conversing with her any longer would cause him extreme pain, and he turned to walk away.

"But!" she exclaimed.

He made an impatient noise but turned back to hear what she had to say.

"If you help me, I can help you in return."

"As if you could possibly offer me anything useful," he sneered.

This time he actually started moving again, and Hermione caught up with him in the castle foyer.

"Wait! I can help you with Lily!" she shouted.

Her voice echoed off the towers stone walls, and it was enough to make Snape stop short. The tense set of his shoulders made Hermione pause on the stairs. He replied without turning around.

"Don't talk about things you don't understand."

Hermione hesitantly moved down the last few steps to join Snape in the foyer.

"I met her right after your disagreement in Flourish & Blotts this summer. She told me all about your fight."

"If you have a point, come to it," Snape drawled, still frozen with his back to her.

"I can talk you up. I can tell her you've changed. I can help you get her back."

Finally, Snape deigned to turn and face her. The Snape she knew in the future was excellent at making his anger felt while maintaining an air of cold detachment. This Snape was not. He clenched his fists and his face contorted with rage as he addressed her.

"You met her once! You aren't friends. You don't even know her!"

Hermione, despite the extreme wariness she felt in Snape's presence, smiled.

"I'm a half-breed in a house full of Pureblood racists. Do you really think she won't befriend me?" she asked.

Hermione's smile grew when Snape was unable to respond.

"Lily and I are going to be close. I'll see to that. And it's up to you what I tell her when she asks about you," she concluded simply.

Snape's eyes still burned with an intensity that communicated extreme displeasure, but for reasons not yet apparent to her, he was smiling.

"You really do belong in Slytherin," he said.

Just like that, all of Hermione's bravado dissipated. Snape could not have said a single thing that would have horrified her more than that.

"I just don't want to be smothered in my sleep," Hermione mumbled defensively.

"Well, I can't promise that," Snape smirked.

Hermione frowned.

"Why not?"

Snape crossed his arms in front of him and gave her a superior look.

"Well, I'm not allowed in the girls' dormitory, am I? You'll have to consult the female Prefect in our year."

He started down the last flight of stairs to the dungeons, and Hermione followed.

"And who is that?" she asked.

She caught up to Snape as they walked down the corridor, and she saw that his smirk remained fixed on his face when he replied.

"Oh, you've already met. Valencia Ferella; the girl that you vomited on."

Hermione stopped walking.

"I'm dead."

At her words, Snape realized she was no longer next to him, and he too stopped.

"Oh, stop moaning," he said impatiently. "You have yourself a deal. I'll do everything I can to keep the brunt of my housemates' aggression off you."

Hermione glared at him for his callous tone but reluctantly continued walking again. A moment later, Snape paused in front of a stone wall.

"When we enter the common room, go immediately to your dormitory. I'll gather everyone and break the news," he said.

Hermione nodded silently. She supposed she should be grateful to Snape for committing to their deal and was about to thank him when Snape spoke again.

"And Granger? You might consider a Freshening Spell. Your breath is rank."

Hermione glared at him again.

"Thank you," she bit out.

Snape's eyes narrowed.

"You can thank me by following through with your end of our agreement."

"I will," Hermione assured him.

Snape spoke the password ("Toujours Pur") and the wall moved to reveal a long hallway. They traveled down the hallway and finally emerged in a dungeon-like room with low ceilings and cold lighting.

"Oh, look who it is! Our newest little invalid."

Hermione winced and looked up to see none other than Valencia Ferella standing in the middle of the common room with her hands on her hips.

"Shut it, Val," the burly boy from the Great Hall snapped. "Good aim, Granger," he added.

A few people around the room laughed at this. Val flushed but maintained her hands-on-hips position.

"Prefects, gather all of the students in your year and meet back here immediately."

Begrudgingly, the Prefects complied. Those already in the common room looked curiously at Snape, who they knew as an unpleasant but solitary boy. It was unusual for him to make an announcement of any kind.

"Who died and made you Head Boy?" a boy with dark hair and striking aristocratic features balked.

Snape glowered at him.

"Don't get smart with me, Black."

"I agree with Regulus. Where do you get off, Snape?" a great hulking boy with a horribly pimpled face demanded.

"Headmaster's orders, Avery," Snape replied with a shrug.

Hermione, already uncomfortable, quickly left the room. She knew from _Hogwarts: A History_ that the girls' bedrooms were located in the eastern end of the dormitory, far beneath the Black Lake, but did not set out in that direction. Instead she ducked into an alcove a few meters away and waited as a few dozen irritated Slytherins were dragged from their rooms and brought into the lounge.

She emerged from the alcove and chanced a closer look at the proceedings. Without an Extendable Ear, Hermione would have to get close enough to see and hear Snape's presentation without being discovered. She vowed to learn a proper Disillusionment Charm one day, but for now, she pressed herself against the wall just outside the Slytherin Common room and muttered _Engorgio_ on a potted plant so that it grew to better conceal her. Now she could see the Slytherins settling into a number of green tufted leather sofas. They all faced Snape with expressions of bored irritation.

Severus Snape surveyed his common room coldly, apparently checking that everybody was present.

"What's this all about, Snape?" asked a boy who was smaller than Avery but looked just as unpleasant.

"I'm getting to that, Mulciber," Snape said, irritation clear in his voice.

He took a deep breath and launched into as brief an explanation of Hermione's story as humanly possible.

"The new girl's mother was a banshee. We are being asked to overlook that in the name of house unity."

A stunned silence followed this announcement. Hermione's entire body tensed. Then the room erupted.

"A half-breed in Slytherin? Impossible!"

"The hat's malfunctioning!"

"I can't be expected to sleep in the same room as that _thing_!"

Snape held up his hands and shouted for silence. Once the room had settled down, he spoke again.

"Stop being so dramatic. Her father was a pureblood. Therefore, she is fifty percent more pure than even a Mudblood," he pointed out.

"Yeah, and she's fifty percent less _human_ than even a Mudblood," Avery retorted.

"Fifty percent pure is the same as zero percent," Regulus chimed in.

The room exploded in a chorus of agreement. Hermione scowled at Regulus Black, which was a bit pointless as he could not see her. Snape raised his hands once again, and the din dwindled down to low grumbling.

"She was put in Slytherin for a reason. The hat has never been wrong before. Besides, anyone who touches her is a fool. She's protected by Dumbledore. He took her in as a daughter over the summer," he snapped.

Mulciber laughed.

"A Slytherin who thinks of Dumbledore as daddy? Oh, this is just _rich_!" he scoffed.

Hermione bristled in her hiding place.

"Snape, why are you so set on defending the creature?" Val asked.

"Yeah, Snape? We already know you have a soft spot for Mudbloods, but half-breeds too?" Avery demanded.

Snape clenched his jaw before continuing.

"Dumbledore charged me with the burden of revealing her true nature to you all. I am merely following orders, which is my duty as a Prefect."

Valencia tilted her head to the side and viewed Snape skeptically.

"It's not your duty to defend her," she stated.

"It is my duty to defend members of my own house. As it is all of yours," Snape said calmly.

There was a fair amount of grumbling from the crowd after Snape's comment, but it was Regulus Black who spoke out the loudest.

"As far as I'm concerned, she's not a member of this house," he announced.

Snape pointed his wand rigidly at Regulus and nearly shouted his next words.

"And as far as _I'm_ concerned, Black, your opinion counts for nothing. Five points from Slytherin. Let that be a lesson to all of you. She may have inferior blood, but she's a member of this house and none of the Prefects will tolerate any behavior to indicate otherwise."

Hermione was shocked at Snape's words. She had expected him to display only the faintest, most reluctant show of support. Yet here he was, risking his neck in front of his entire house for her.

_For Lily_, Hermione silently corrected herself.

"Oh really?" the girl called Val challenged, her hands once more on her hips.

"Yes, Valencia. _Really_," Snape countered.

Mulciber lifted himself from his chair and approached Snape slowly, like a predator stalking its prey.

"Watch yourself, Snape. People might get the wrong idea about you," he warned.

"And what idea is that?" Snape asked impatiently.

"That you don't know who the right type of people are anymore. You finally rid yourself of that Mudblood bitch, only to pick up a new wretch?" Mulciber spat.

Hermione's eyes flew wide open, while Snape's did the opposite. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched the wand in his fist.

"You're out of order, Mulciber."

Mulciber just laughed.

"Am I?"

Suddenly the burly boy with the sandy hair, Darius, was up out of his chair and standing next to Snape.

"Everybody settle down. I'm the seventh year Prefect here, and Snape is right," Darius proclaimed, and Snape and Mulciber reluctantly took a step back from each other.

Val spoke next, looking entirely unmoved. She had remained sprawled out casually on a leather sofa throughout the entire proceedings.

"Darius, your thoughts on the matter are hardly representative of our house. You're friendly with a couple of Hufflepuffs for Merlin's sake."

"They're my little sisters!" Darius returned incredulously.

"As if that's any excuse," Val muttered, curling her lip in disgust.

Darius was unimpressed by her show of defiance.

"Val, you and the rest of the Prefects will do as I say. And the rest of the crowd will fall in line behind you," he asserted.

Val laughed in what was supposed to be a nonchalant manner, but it sounded forced.

"Relax, Darius. Since when have you known me to do anything stupid or impulsive? If she's the Headmaster's pet, we won't do her any _permanent_ damage. Will we, girls?"

She turned and shot an inquisitive look at the girls on the sofa next to her. They giggled nastily but said nothing. Smirking, Val turned back to Darius and Snape.

"Now, everyone to bed," she commanded, smirking all the more when her housemates instantly followed her orders rather than waiting for Darius or Snape.

Val and her friends got up and sauntered out of the room. Hermione sprung up from her hiding place and darted down the eastern hallway to the girls' dormitories. She made it into her room just before the others.

They entered their room with an assertive swagger that did not escape Hermione's notice. Hermione had perched herself nervously on the edge of the only bed in the room that was not taken when she entered. The girls studiously ignored her as they went about their bedtime rituals, as if pretending she was not there would somehow make it so. The only indication that they saw her at all was a single comment from Val just before they all turned in for the night.

"Half-breed, take care not to touch any of our things. I don't care what Snape says. You're not a Slytherin," the girl hissed.

"I couldn't agree more," Hermione replied under her breath.

The other Slytherin girls smirked, but Hermione ignored them and climbed under her covers. Sleep did not come easily to Hermione. Even after whispering a half-dozen defensive charms just in case, when she finally drifted off long past midnight her sleep was light and fretful. Each time she heard the rustling of sheets, her entire body tensed in anticipation of the hex that she was certain one of her new roommates had just sent her way.

She was usually an early riser, but the following morning when she heard her roommates start to stir, Hermione buried herself deeper into her cocoon of blankets. She did not trust herself to endure the sneers and jibes of a half-dozen angry Slytherins so early in the morning.

So she pretended to be asleep as Val and the other sixth year Slytherin girls stumbled about the room muttering makeup charms. At one point Val noted that they should not wake Hermione because she needed all the beauty sleep she could get, and Hermione heard the other girls giggle in response. It was not much later that Hermione heard them start to file downstairs for breakfast. It was only when she heard the last footsteps fade that Hermione finally got out of bed, muttered a quick Freshening Charm, and threw on her school clothes.

She entered the Great Hall and darted immediately for the far end of the Slytherin table, which was almost completely vacant. The nearest Slytherin was first-year Gabriel Danton, who gave her a nervous glance and quickly shoved down to the next bench. Hermione's eyes found the Gryffindor table, hoping for a glimpse of Lily, but it appeared that the girl had already headed off to her first class. Hermione did not see any of the Marauders either. In fact, the Great Hall was mostly empty. By next week there would still be students milling about at this point in the morning, but as it was the first day of classes, Hermione guessed that people were eager to start the year off on the right foot.

For now, she was relieved that the hall was so empty, as it appeared that news of her secret had already spread to the other houses. She saw a couple of Gryffindor boys whispering furiously, pointing in Hermione's direction, and then pantomiming the shrieking calls of a banshee.

Hermione managed to shovel down a small plate of beans and toast before making her way to the greenhouses for Herbology. Her breakfast settled like lead into the pit of her stomach as she walked, and by the time she entered the greenhouses, she was beginning to sincerely regret her decision to eat anything at all.

Hermione managed to stand at the back of the crowd of Slytherins while a much younger but no less mangy Professor Sprout explained the day's lesson (collecting the Stinksap from the boils of Mimbulus mimbletonia). Sprout directed them to claim one of the individually potted Mimbulus mimbletonia plants on a long wooden table in between the Devil's Snare and Gurdyroot before she set off to deal with a particularly menacing group of Fanged Geraniums. Ignoring the whispers and stares directed at her, Hermione went to stand in front of one of the pots when she was roughly shoved aside by a large, hulking Slytherin with a horribly pimpled face.

"Hey, new girl! Take care not to touch me again. I'd have to dip back into the dorm for a bath before Arithmancy, and there's hardly time for that," Avery sneered.

Rubbing her shoulder, Hermione shot Severus Snape a pointed look as he passed by her on his way to stand next to Avery. Snape ignored her and continued to walk, but Hermione managed to snag the edge of his sleeve and give it a firm tug. Snape spun around stiffly and glowered at Hermione.

"I thought we had a deal," she hissed.

"We do, and I've yet to see you carry out your side of the bargain. I already did enough for you last night. You're on your own until you show me that you can do what you claim you can do," Snape whispered, his eyes narrowed into slits.

He drew back and gave his sleeve a sharp jerk, freeing himself to join his friends. Hermione huffed, but straightened up and stood beside a very uncomfortable Hufflepuff, careful to avoid touching the Devil's Snare at her back.

It was a fairly dull lesson, but Hermione was so distracted that she was not operating at her full capabilities. She managed to pop two boils which left her entire right arm covered with Stinksap.

"Don't bother with a Cleaning Charm, Granger," Mulciber called out.

"Yeah, Stinksap can only improve your stench," Avery added from beside him. His grinned, and the pimples on his cheeks strained under pressure.

The Slytherins and a few of the less nervous Hufflepuffs tittered with laughter. Snape merely stared down his plant, focusing on his flawless extraction of Stinksap.

"I'm not surprised you're an expert at dealing with boils, Avery," Hermione snapped before she could stop herself.

Avery stopped laughing and refocused his attention on Hermione.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I just think it's admirable that you can take the skills you've learned from having a horrible skin condition like yours and apply them to Herbology."

Hermione was shocked as soon as the words left her mouth. It was entirely unlike her to spout such vitriol with so little provocation; it was much more Ron's style, or Harry's, on a bad day. When she considered this she realized that her reaction probably had very little to do with Avery's comments and a lot to do with her having the knowledge that this future Death Eater would one day weasel out of Azkaban by claiming he was Imperius Curse.

In any case, Hermione's words had the desired effect. Avery's face purpled, making his pimples stand out even more starkly, and he gnashed his teeth together in outrage. Pleased that she did not need Snape's help to deal with her housemates, Hermione turned back to her work. She was about to cast _Scourgify_ on her sap-covered arm, when she heard Avery speak again.

His Slipping Hex hit her before she had a chance to react and sent Hermione gliding backwards as if she was on skates. It struck her as odd that someone as awful as Avery would use such a mild hex. Then she realized what she was gliding backwards into.

The Devil's Snare coiled itself around her ankles and wrists before she could claw her way out of its grasp. The plant gave her body a vicious yank, and Hermione screamed as the ivy tendrils enveloped her, snaking their way around her neck and waist. The last thing she saw before the leaves surrounded her was Professor Sprout, who was still at the far end of the greenhouses by the Fanged Geraniums.

She knew she had to do something, but when the vines began to constrict, squeezing the air out of her body, she lost the ability to think. She faintly heard the shouts of the other students, but all she could focus on was the vine tightening around her neck.

With the last bit of air in her lungs, Hermione let out another desperate scream. Her voice trailed off with a tremulous whimper, and then the vines completely encapsulated her, leaving her in darkness. She tried to gasp for breath, but all she took in were leaves. With her final burst of reflection, Hermione remembered that her wand was still gripped in her right hand. However, as her wand hand was currently encased in vines and she had no way to actually speak an incantation, this realization came too late.

She had no breath to speak, but Hermione could not stop fighting. Not here in the past. Not when she knew that Ron and Harry needed her.

'_Hyacinthoideus Flagrare!'_ she thought.

Her body convulsed with the desperate need for air, but she remained focused on her goal. Her grip on her wand tightened and she continued.

'_Hyacinthoideus Flagrare!_ _Hyacinthoideus Flagrare! Hyacinthoideus Flagrare! Hyacinthoideus Flagrare! HYACINTHOIDEUS FLAGRARE!'_

Hermione felt consciousness slipping away. Then there was no more darkness. A soft blue light flooded her vision. A sudden burst of warmth started by her feet. Ever the academic, Hermione noted absently that one's feet should not feel warm as they died.

Then what had been a gentle warmth became an intense burning sensation, and Hermione realized that her spell had worked. The Devil's Snare, recognizing danger, instantly retracted. In moments, Hermione was left extremely dizzy and coughing so hard she doubled over, but she was free of the deadly vines. Between her gasping and hacking, she vaguely registered that the tip of her wand was still smoking from some well-conjured bluebell flames.

"Oh, thank goodness! Bluebell flames? Very impressive, Miss Granger! But never mind that, come here!"

Professor Sprout, wheezing from her mad dash from the Fanged Geraniums, pulled Hermione forward. She gripped Hermione's arm as the younger witch continued to gasp for breath.

"Twenty points from Slytherin, Avery, you foolish lump! Nearly killing your own housemate! Honestly! Not to mention the damage wrought on my poor plant," Sprout ranted.

Hermione was still busy coughing up leaves, but she glanced up long enough to see that, to her surprise, everybody, including the Slytherins, looked pale-faced and nervous. Mulciber and Snape, in particular, were glaring at Avery. Before she could wager a guess as to why the tide of sentiment had suddenly turned in her favor, her body was seized by another round of hacking.

"Come now, dear, it's off to the infirmary with you."

Professor Sprout put an arm around Hermione's shoulders and gently guided her toward the greenhouse door. As she hobbled along beside the older woman, Hermione heard Snape's distinct voice.

"You idiot! You could have gotten us all killed!"

Hermione frowned. Mulciber spoke next.

"She's half banshee, Avery! What the hell were you thinking, making her scream? I suspect the only reason we're still standing is that her voice was muffled by the ruddy leaves!"

So that explained the pale faces of everyone present. It occurred to Hermione that she might want to cultivate this fear of her screams, but once again, before she could think too hard on this she started coughing. She heard Avery begin to defend himself, but missed the rest of the conversation as Professor Sprout hurried her to the Hospital Wing.

~o~o~o~

End Notes: Thanks for sticking with this! Here's little sneak peek at Chapter 11:

_Then two horrible images flooded her mind._

_The first was of Ron turning purple as he shouted at her that he thought they had come to an understanding since he ended things with Lavender._

_The second was of her twenty-years-older Professor watching her now in horror, disgusted with her for taking advantage of his younger self. _

Now, I know that this is normally the point in the chapter when I bribe you to review (in a very understate, subtle sort of way). However, this time I'm not going to do that.

No, I'm not going to tell you that if you leave me a review a kitten gets its wings or your hair will instantly become thicker and more luscious. I won't even tell you that leaving reviews is the karmic equivalent of rescuing a baby penguin from an oil spill. Even though it's all 100% true.

I'm not going to mention it.

At all.

You just review if you feel like it. Never mind wingless kittens or oil-covered penguins or your could-be-thicker hair.

Really.


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